South Africa’s favourite fairground attraction
Is ninety-five years old
Today.
He disintegrates in a hospital bed
And the pipes that sustain him
Seem to hold him together.
And little children can poke him
For the pittance of a scribbled note of
Goodwill and an upside-down masterpiece
Of the South African flag.
He does not move
But rather groans and moans
And the world rejoices because
Its favourite game is not yet
Out of order.
He musters the strength
To watch daytime television
And the minutes creep by in
Decelerated agony.
The nurses drag in a cake
Bigger than the privacy he is afforded
And he knows that he is expected to smile
But he is an exoskeleton
Of his former mantle.
So, deadpan, he spits out the tubes
And blows out the candles.
Kommentaar
Pardon me I'm trying to collect my jaw from the floor.
It's a wonderful poem Wes and for a teenager, very thoughtful.
Great job dude!