I sit-
Forlornly beside a robot post,
Of hope bereft.
Subdued in a perennial bitter reverie,
Of hunger and poverty
Turning out to be my daily reality
This spot, an employment mecca in my community

White men navigated expensive vehicles
Rocket like, they roll past
Plastering my face with dust
Speeding away with my hope for a meal
And with my cracked footed child’s hope for shoes.

By these thoughts I’m often haunted
They constantly overflow in my mind-
Like boiling milk in a pot
Then my tears escape their pit
And each day I vow to make a friend-
Of this robot post

Sometimes as I sit-
A white farmer on a bakkie would pull up,
With a dog on the rear seat
And shout for me to jump up
Like a trained terrier I would obey
Envisaging a smile-
On my wife’s black beautiful face
When I open the door with my head
For the chore would be impossible for the hand
Because of a bag of groceries in each grasp

However I know in a day
The smile would soon go away
And circumstances in the household
Would lead me to my friend
I hate him!

Is it fair that I,
A remnant of those-
Who rightfully owned the mountains, valleys, and hills
The seas, rivers, and streams
All the meadows and pastures-
On which their livestock grazed
And beneath their crops-the very land
Labours in that land
And does not even own-
A flower garden
But labours for those who stole it
For a small profit?