The White Girl Poem by Gert Strydom

I fill my blue motorbike
at the garage
and the smell of fuel
is strong in the air.

The early morning sun
hangs bright in the sky
and already it’s a hot day.

I go to the shop
to buy a can of Coke
and get caught
in the middle of a fight
of a white girl
with the black cashier
and she tries to draw me
into her argument.

She’s beautiful and spoiled
and shouts and slams her fists down
on the counter
and in a temper tantrum
grabs the card reading machine
and throws it on the ground
and there’s hatred in her eyes
and her words lack respect
and any dignity.

I see how the machine
breaks into bits
and paper rolling
down an aisle
and time freezes
into parts of reality
and I have no cash on me.

Suddenly I am dismayed
at being of the same race
and culture and nationality
as that spoiled grown up child.