The Johannesburg war memorial.
As I sit beneath the shade of imperial light infantry
and their railway pioneer regiments
I hear the distant melting wine of an ice cream van
and try to remember when last i bought a new tube of
toothpaste.
Above the skipping chirp and play of small children
It’s the quiet hum of city that embraces this restless, cold body
of memorial.
It beckons.
You can hear it in the wind
through the bluegum and the pine and upon the
lips of those with little courage.
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