Moving On
Some South Africans delight in Moving On
Most of them are young
But we’re in a party, you see, you’re not meant to say
Hey, what the fuck is that dungeon doing in the middle of the floor
Where history is pushing about, sometimes shaking the bars, most times just sitting there
You can choose to ignore it
Maybe abhor it as wrong
To pay it any attention.
History is bobbing about in the keychain hanging from your rear view mirror
As you skip lanes to get ahead
It’s patchworked on the roadside that your keychain distracts you from
It’s in the sound and fury and the absurd laughter
We suffer from
Still others can’t get away
And walk about with history
As a sandwich board enclosing their stomachs and legs
Advertising, but
Hindering movements
The other day a pigeon flew off with some in its beak
Made a reclusive nest
And buried history in there,
Woven in deep.