When The Moon Rises In The Concrete Jungle Poem by Gert Strydom

When the moon rises in the concrete jungle
she notices how bare, how stripped
the park is in the early winter

and she becomes aware of the chill
that does not only pierce through her body
but is freezing her whole life.

She notices the moon that is white
as if the rays of it
are unreachable and bleak

and in the distance there are lights
that is beckoning all of the time
that twinkle
like the decorations of a Christmas tree,

which reminds her of a world
where people gambol and cavort,
reminds her of the tinned pleasure
that only lasts for moments

and the price of it
comes with the pain of AIDS,
does penetrate with painful claws
for days, weeks, months and sometimes years
bringing you staggering
to where you can go no further.