11 September 2018

money, a poem by Rethabile Masilo

solitude was not
what I aspired to,
living a chemical life
just the two of us,
or with one-and-a-half
children as Sunday
parents, our staff
having left lunch
ready on the table,
spoons, forks, knives,
to go to their lives.
I walk on marble,
and wear thick fur,
not knowing any
more what it's all for.

Pindrop Press

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