A Military Goodbye Poem by Gert Strydom

Being called up for another military camp
as a citizen force soldier against my will
and this one is in Cape Town,
for eight parades
to say goodbye to president PW Botha,
the man with the hairless head
and while I salute roaring past
in a armoured car
his black hat is against his chest
and I wonder what all the bloodshed has bought
and see numerous Fapla and Cuban enemies lying dead
and thundering through the clouds above me
mirage and cheetah fighter jets fly past
and it's clear that the great crocodile's teeth
have been drawn,
that a pack of backbiting lions is surrounding him
and somehow freedom is dwindling away
and the hand that held the arrows of God
is now trembling in a kind of unclear defeat
and drops blur my vision.