Of Johannesburg
I
there’s an opening in time in the summertime
of johannesburg.
if the sun’s done flexing and the moon’s about ready
– hushhhh. you’ll feel the rip-rupture.
of johannesburg is thunder tumbling out of plumes of cloud
as her water breaks into the afternoon.
you’ll feel the rip, rupturing the light.
that’s how she reminds us she’s made of shards of moon.
as her water breaks into the afternoon,
you’ll be stuck, stuck in the mud, stuck in rivers of tar.
reminded of how she’s made of shards of moon,
you’ll stop where you are.
stuck in rivers of tar like the driverless vehicle you fear you are
as night swells like instant potato - like smash made with rain.
you’ll stop where you are, waiting to be unstuck.
but johannesburg does not play your games.
II
night swells, as does the ribcage before you c––
as does a birthday balloon pumped with unachievements exhaled.
johannesburg does not play.
for when the toss favoured heads, it is you who chose tails.
does it float? a balloon pumped with unachievements exhaled.
or does it fall-pop-bleed into the ground around you?
in choosing tails when the toss favoured heads,
your shadow won: it grew.
fall-pop-bleed is how you arrived in this city.
first in lust, then in heat, then month-on-month
it is you who swelled
until you could no longer stomach the change.
month-on-month becomes the game you call ‘groove’
bathroom stalls and parking lots: your stage.
until you learn to stomach the change,
this city will have her way with you.
End
(2016) | Performed: Full Circle Art Africa, Hong Kong, 2017