Electoral quicksand

Dragging me under

So slowly it is barely noticeable

Political tricks and Hypnotic suggestion that only

Two paths lead safely away

One that has been walked on

For years and does well (for everyone who possesses shoes)

– –

While the sharts of class

Continue to slice the defeat

Of those whose homes

Have just been repossessed to the back of yet another Public Protector vehicle

To ensure they sea this point

–

While a makeshift house

Stands its ground

To face off against the elements

And if you were to zoom in

Close enough

You might be able to make out the words

On those paper thin walls

Declaring this the best run Providence

– –

Or if you were to take a peaceful walk

In your Flats to that area of the Cape

Well visited by those who lack the urgency of vowels

In these few weaks

You might hear the soulful song

Of bullets singing in chorus

That things will somehow suddenly be different this time around

– –

You ANC nothing yet

DA parly ‘ticians will say

We will all of a sudden miraculously

Be for all of your GOOD

Even though “EFF you!” has been the nature of our way

Aye! See!

Deep, Hey?

If only these letters formed words which led to actions which regularly declared those words out loud.

– –

Another moment

And that sinking feeling has returned

Suddenly, without noticing it happen

The mud (i do hope that’s mud!) is up to my neck

But for some reason now feels like a rope

Tightening itself as the hope of any sort of real change is slowly squeezed out of me

– –

Without warning i stand with a paper

And a long list of strangers staring back at me

The mark on my fingernail

Reminding me of the marks on the fingernails of those who have repeatedly been violenced upon

By those who have held this orifice

– –

And my decision is made easy.

Well, easier.

It begins with a “Not them. Not again”

And then attempts to make it’s way to

Someone who might possibly see humanity where others have seen inconvenience and stain.

– –

Another slow sinking feeling

And all i have left is the thin hope that someone comes along with a rope strong enough to save us all.

– –

By now my mouth has reached the…

[This is definitely not mud!]

The foul stench of the empty worms

That have slithered out of their mouths should have alerted me

To the muck we are all sinking in

– –

One final glance around before i am pulled under

And i see that help has arrived

Not in the faces of the politicians

Who left days ago

As their party bus pulled out

Amidst the deafening music and laughter

–

But rather in the hands and feet of the community who have formed a chain

And reach towards me

Declaring that this is how we will turn things around

Not with a party

But a neighbourhood feats

And so it begins…