A Childrens Game? Poem by Gert Strydom

I see a boy making roads
in the red-brown sand,
where his blue plastic Ranchero pickup
drives up and down
past a mud pond.

There’s a green plastic
roofless Mercedes,
that’s parked in the shade
next to a homestead
of tomato planks.

Small branches stand like popular trees
pressed in a row
in a rectangle,
where a red plastic Massi Furgeson tractor
draws furrows in a line of dust.

When I pass that place years later
a farmer drives around his fields
with his white Toyota pickup,
where popular trees
are rowed in next to the road
and green John Deere tractors
are ploughing
and I see a beautiful blonde woman
with a silver Mercedes SLK
cutting past their big dam
and the road turns away
and I wonder how the house looks
where they live
of which the roof
just edges pass the hillock.