(2 poems)
by AA Maree
A dead swallow
I saw a swallow on the walk
up on the bench, dead on the floor
I’d guess a cat or dog had got it
something pretty and hopeful
now in the sand at least
walkers can see it, stop
and say how sad.
I walked with you because you asked
now at the bench we talk of this
and that, you touch my shoulder
then a kiss, not much else to do I guess.
After a while my open eyes see yours still
closed, it must be nice.
Do you know I’m looking at the trees
and your cheek and nose or do you think
I’m lost as you are in our mediocre meeting lips.
Make an effort, I chastise myself, and close
my eyes dispelling thought.
We walk back and pass the bird
exposed and rolled in dirt.
On closer look we see it seems so ripped apart,
its insides out, without a heart.
Why is it always the women?
When temperature drops
and fuel is needed for fire
why is it always the women
seen struggling up hills with logs on their heads
when unemployed men sit at stop streets
waiting for offers to fix roofs and paint sheds ?
When fighting breaks out
and punches are thrown and glass
bottles are broken over faces and heads
why is it always the women
who end up cleaning and weeping in
hospital waiting rooms fighting for beds ?
When walking home each day
whether its dark or its light
why is it always the women
who watch carefully , switching over
to the other side of the street not listening to music
while men amble home humming carelessly ?
When tragedy strikes
at home or abroad
why is it always the women
writing stories for those forgotten
while men just write of themselves
unaware that Eve’s apple has always been rotten.
Discover more from Botsotso
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.