‘At least we can meet at the Indian market’
She said way back in Cato Manor.
Haven’t met her since.
She, pushed into Umlazi
Me, pushed into Kwa-Mashu.
She looks at the city from the south
I descend upon it from the north.
Looks we’ve been both lost in the grey dizziness
of our townships. That we can’t meet.
OR – who hasn’t kept the promise?