At The Red Traffic Light Poem by Gert Strydom
At The Red Traffic Light
At the traffic light he stands waiting
armed with a plastic spray bottle
that he rises to spray soap on the windscreen
to take a forced toll
on whoever stops for the red light
and this kind of thing
goes far beyond irritating
as another kind of begging
and although anger wants to erupt in me,
his tattered clothes, his half starved body
on this cold winter morning
tells an own story about his need.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 6:53:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
