Vilakazi,
in the riots of ’76,
Henderson,
in the shadows of ’77,
Bailey,
through the dark and bitter end:
Not sacrificing themselves
for a cause,
these ordinary men,
just rescuing
our hopes,
one act at a time.
Photo by RIP – © beeblu
To mark this
anniversary,
this man-made construct
Why?
To remind ourselves
of your light lost,
that we miss you?
Ten years on,
no reminder necessary
was it the 500,000th
cigarette
that threw the switch,
sent
your light flickering?
i see you bathed in darkness,
no light, no air,
just the rasping
of short-circuitry
Was the timer on before
you were born?
i don’t know…
Maybe the 500,001st
was the nth
of vice,
lights-out for a pulse
If Leibniz were alive, i would
ask him,
but we wouldn’t
share a smoke
I glimpse
your ghost
in
the sure hands
of a carpenter,
the polished grain
of Oregon pine,
the automatic way I
switch off the light when leaving a room,
the geometric folding of
a newspaper
on the train,
UPPER-CASE EMAILS,
those who talk to
dogs
as if they were human,
to humans
as if they were
joy itself,
the cheerful scatting
of a man in his shed,
brother’s
exasperation when someone goes right
to turn left,
sliced tomato on toast,
and – every morning –
in the shapes
of my
toes
—
The smell of sawdust
takes me to a time
you’d send me to pick leaves for the silkworms
after your tools turned on you
(usually the ratchet screwdriver)
my young ears safe at the mulberry tree,
brother’s mosquito gang
wheelieing up the laneway
for a smoke and 50cc tune-up
with their favourite neighbourhood oldie,
night-scented gardenia
mixed with varnish,
crickets and
Erroll Garner
illuminating the nightwaves
You move your feet
in a morphine-induced dream
but you cannot walk,
I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been
beeblu blog 
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