Worn rough from the sandpaper of your searing sight,
I resolved, “No more!”
No more gifts,
No more time spent in the cave of torture,
Hoping for the berk of your love to anchor in my heart.
No – not ever.

Still, the oil of your oestregen
Oozed in my veins,
Morphing the yonder of youth into a base, bashing beat,
Commercialising you
As ******* legs *******.
Your coyness choked Cupid’s chances.

Right, then. It went like this –
You were on the field with friends
So I spotted your unguarded satchel,
Bright blue and brown,
Still dressed in the mist of your perfume,
Beckoning me into its *****.

Accepting,
I lunged forward,
Clutching and fondling it.
Brown-noser Duduzile saw me, told me you were angry.
All I could offer was one explanation –
“I was shooing a grasshopper away.” I hate you.

Locked up in a sealed, squat jar
Leveling out the fragile playing fields
Which separate our stupid lives from your pre-natal bliss,
I gazed upon you in constant amazement,
As your watered and eager soul shook against the thick glass.

In the comfort of a forgotten cupboard,
You peer out daily through your half-shut pink eyes,
Watching the cogs of our legs grind up and down stairwells,
Oiled by fear and glistening in blind faith.
And, still, you make the glass rock and tilt with your Buddha laughs!

Quite a charming crew, you had there!
Magical bones and limp lizards
(Amongst other players) gathered together for science’s sake,
Only to be glimpsed at briefly in-between breaks.
Kids came and went, things were built - you never changed.

It was better that you never tasted life’s lost lustre.
Had you past through the wet, wobbly womb,
Only a few options would have awaited you –
Pet, chop suey or a pitiful pawn on Squealer’s chessboard.
You’re too sweet for all of that – stay bottled up.

The beach was hot,
The sand stinging, too many bathers bobbing.
Not today –
The wild, warm waters would not taste our baked skin.
Need alternatives –
Things to trespass through temperature and time.

The Rock had an idea –
Not novel by any means, but oh! so good.
Minitown!
Yes, painted boxes modeled to scale on a city rooftop.
Bustling Durbanites, beware! –
I stomp, sending shockwaves of mayhem and destruction.

Forget family –
Go to Happy Chappy and kiss your last lamb bunny goodbye.
Reck you not my lizard loathe?
I’ll teach you, motley Xanadu crew,
To promptly part ways with your Black Labels and head for the hills!

As for the unborn,
I’ll shred Addington Hospital in one crush,
Terrifying nurses worse than The Joker ever could.
Wait! – what year is it?
Is this the eighties? I’ll hold out for another decade.

I didn’t seek you out
Or know but a faint sniff of your existence.
Whilst I sat by the quiet waters of Mpushini Falls
Where mighty Shaka and his impis speared tribes into oblivion,
You sleighed your way down crispy white snow
Once stained by the blood of atoning fathers
Which rolled the red carpet over white supremacy.

You got my details from the nuns.
They thought it would be best
To make connections over the hinterland and ocean.
You were much better than the German Greek who
Was your predecessor.
You should have seen him – posing on the couch
So snugly with mom, dad and sis. Where was I going to fit?

Was it shame that moved you to write?
Trying to water choked South African wild oats
With your western notion of outreach,
Thinking that you have everything that I don’t?
No swollen bellies or elephant-back taxi rides here:
I’m just a budding soul finding my peace.
You’re disturbing this process – now buzz off.

“Just the usual –
Milk, bread, cigarettes. Nothing more.”
I had my ordinary orders and,
Armed with my minted money
Now planted firmly in my left jean pocket,
I prepared to plough and crush over a mass grave of stones.

Secretive Shane was nowhere to be found –
Probably ventured of with the Knights of Da Gama
To the Cape of Good Hope
Searching for spicy hot ******.
Presence or absence,
I greet you only with indifference.

Must press on, not over the high, roaring seas,
But the rough, blanched rocks.
Crunch, crash, krooksh. I was
Mid-ascension, when suddenly –
Rrr!..grrr woo.. woo. Brutus breached the fence – finally.

He had been waiting for this for too long.
Juicy derriere would not be passed up this afternoon.
The pain, the shock, the horror.
Et tu, brute.
I thought you were better than the rabid dogs
In suit and tie going to church daily
Who torment me beyond measure.

Towering and booming you always were, Primero!
I remember your rugged jeans,
That worn straw cowboy hat covering the cackle of your laugh.
At four-thirty daily, you woke up,
Attending to sheep, cows and raging sugar cane fields
Which were pacified with morning flames.

So, you grew in prominence.
From foreman you flourished to favoured fieldsman,
Showing us academians what’s what with your withering hands.
By God! – sun-kissed corn kernels still sing your praises to the day.
Why did you have to go?
Oh, but truly, it wasn’t your time.

One morning whilst I dreamt of crackers and balloons,
I received the rudest, roughest rouse.
“Uncle Alpha’s dead,” the Rock repeated,
Running frantically down the passage of the house.

Only later I learnt that you were shot dead
By some hoodlum goons trying to deprive you of your promotion.
They loaded and cocked,
Filling the tank with juice geared for the getaway.

One shot, rupturing the spleen and the gall.
Another, ringing into eternity, taking with it all.

What a queer boy you are!
All prissy-missy and floating about
As if the world spread out before you
(With us as the rejected roses of your red carpet)
Owed you anything in the first place.
Just who do you think you are?

Oh, but how pretty you were!
Had only your overgrown turkey *******
Been crafted from the offset to be savoured
By the sweet lips of a woman
As nature and state intend them,
Yes – why, yes, our understanding of you would have been initially inked.

Pray tell – what was the charm you had with the girls?
Despite our best, you overshadowed us in a pitiful dust.
Our roses you turned to a morphine ash,
Morphing our sweet serenades to suffocating sulphur.
Know you not how you thwarted our plans so naturally?
Without even the slightest objective of mocking?

Okay, so I get it – females favour gay guys for company.
Good news for you – ***** for us.
Still, I think no less of you.
You inspire me,
Immaculately-skinned one.

I think you and Freddie will have a whale of a time.
You will meet him soon enough.

I nearly kissed a boy – you know that?
His name was Simphiwe – he was black.
That would have killed the Old Bull.