Going Home Poem by Gert Strydom

When I was a student
I came through the rain,
with storms whipping the Cape
right through the Karoo
into Gauteng
flooding rivers
and blocking mountain passes
with land slides.

Avoiding fallen rocks and creeping
at sixty kilometres an hour
on the N1 till Worchester
on a road
that had only one lane open,
I passed the police
who were closing the freeway.

For fifteen hundred kilometres
the road was soaking wet
and my BMW’s four headlights glared
at any other vehicle that I met

and the ABS-brakes,
the six-cylinder engine
and power steering
did their fare share
to keep me on the road.

Every now and then
I had to stop to get fuel,
checked the oil,
checked the air pressure,
visited the washing room
and Coca Cola kept me awake
right through a soaking night
while I was on my way home
to sunny Pretoria.

I came to the house
in a early dawn,
was greeted by the dog
crying from joy
and wagging its tail,

got a huge plate
of sausage, putu porridge
with tomato gravy
and fried eggs
and coffee from my mother,
went to bed
and slept as if I were dead
right into the next day.