A Scene From Another Day In The New South Africa (4) : My Retrenchment Is Raw In Me (Ballade) Poem by Gert Strydom

My retrenchment is raw in me (Ballade)

(in answer to Robin Camhee)
1
I call the children in from where they play outside
with small green plastic soldiers, tanks and jeeps,
the sound of a helicopter clatter against the windows
where we have got to share our world with criminals,
2
Chorus:
my retrenchment is raw in me
when affirmative action comes into place,
I wonder where I am going to find another job,
are astonished at life and at the employer,
3
the police searchlight to below throws a bright spot,
while squad-cars at speed drive up and down
and like this life in the city is sometimes scattered,
a person wonders if you can still dare it outside?
4
I help you with the food and cut onions into pieces,
our attention is drawn from outside to inside,
of the whole world outside we get impressions
with the events portrayed by the evening-news.
5
Later we talk about work, entertainment and fun,
in both our hearts there are real antipathy
while I notice the worry deep in your eyes
and we wonder why it's happening to us?

[Poet's note: I am quoting: "Scenes from Another Day" by Robin Camhee

"Stranded in the middle of nowhere
her children by her side
a battered case, some cooking things
an O.K. packet with stuff,
scattered them the possessions
of a lifetime…
she stands admit the flattened walls of her house…"

"another day
as authority
forces a removal."


"Lost amidst commuters
concrete and glass
a used ticket in his hand,
some change, a letter in his pocket,
some tattered clothing in his sack
flung boldly over his shoulder…"

"another ruralite
come to take his chance."


"Sprawled in the dusty road
blood gushing from a head wound
the legs twitching neurotically,
a broken body pours out its life…"

"another day
as the casspirs
make their rounds."


"As the smog settles
it shrouds a mangy dog
dragging a bundle
from a rubbish heap,
its eyes rheumy
its jaws slavering in anticipation…"

"another sunrise
as a abandoned baby
feeds a township mongrel.


"As he shivers in the heat of the evening
the piss running down his legs
the shit anxious to fly out,
he empties his pockets
while the knives hover close…"

"another week
his children will starve."


"On a corner
the barricades are up,
the fires are lit
and a ring of dancers
chants the last rites
as black smoke
smears the sky…"

"another life is torched."


"So as you make your face
clip on your earrings
for a night on the town
remember,
the heavens
indifferent as always
placidly pass from day to night
just as
the glib words and foul deeds
that crush our lives
pass you by,
you might wake to another day
hung over from the night
and then again,
you might not…"

This poem was published in the book:Scenes from Another Day" new South African writing, Writers Forum, Johannesburg,1989.]

© Gert Strydom