Street Scene

By Simeon Dumdum Jr.

Each time I see a bundle on the street,
Wrapped in tarpaulin, a blanket or newspaper,
I get a lump in my throat — it’s as if
Someone has handed me a telegram
(Many a time the bearer of bad news).
But then that wild horse, the imagination,
Can become too wild for its rider, reason,
Which needs to rein it in with arguments,
Such as that things like blankets and tarpaulins
Will likely end up on the city streets
As much as plates and cups, the first to fly
Outside the door in a domestic spat,
And if too neat to be the crop of chaos,
A passerby has tucked the bundle in,
Unable to resist a tidy fit.
As to newspapers, they’re there all the time,
And the wind strangely has a way of forming
The front and inside pages into figures,
Even into the likeness of a corpse
(I call that the revenge of history).
At times, I see shoes stick out of the bundle.
Again, I tell myself, the streets accept
All sorts of rubbish, even underwear,
And who knows if someone’s feet had outgrown
The shoes, or somehow he had lost his feet,
Or, God forbid, his life, and I just hope
They did not throw his body into the street
Together with his shoes.

31 July 2016