Treasure Island

Gert Strydom

(03 April 1964 / Johannesburg, South Africa)

A accountant at a transport company


Figures on paper glare at me
with the sun hanging bright in a blue sky,
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.

Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and drivers walk about talking
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.

When the managing director looks in he wants
me to make changes, to do an act of fraud.
Figures on paper glare at me

with a bonus waving,
and my name, my integrity is at stake
and drivers walk about talking

and I wonder how to get out of this trap
when I catch the eye of the managing director’s charming daughter
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.

I again check calculations, re-determine and add
and I keep things correct
and my name, my integrity is at stake.

The managing director wants the final figures,
he makes threats and his temper is just under control.
Figures on paper glare at me

while I complete the financial statements
and thousands of things go through my mind
and I keep things correct

and the day rushes past
the managing director’s daughter winks at me, walks down the passage
while busses and lories drive past the whole time,

sirens are ringing in the distance and the wall-clock ticks off the last minutes
and I know that I can loose my job
and thousands of things go through my mind

when the girl walks in with eyes cutting into my soul,
say that her dad is waiting and I feel like caught in web.
Figures on paper glare at me
while busses and lories drive past the whole time

and I hear excited voices in the managing director’s office.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and I know that I can loose my job,
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.

Submitted: Thursday, January 06, 2011

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