Umkhenza aka, she’s,

uya thethiswa.

A citizen is

never to be beaten, but

given a tongue-lashing

There’s a red dog

inside of him

of-which even he’s not cognizant;

the inheritance of frustration,

anger endowment,

all things hereditary

He greets the raising

of the sun

standing at the gate

with a tin tea-cup

he’s been romancing

longer than necessary

The temperature decreases

like a mortal coil

that has given up the ghost

a fortuitous ice-tea

He, mentally, maps-out

how to navigate

his “mobile store” today.

Being a carte-wheel vendor

in White City

is an art, not a science

The sun osculates him

while in his daze,

consequently calling him

to come to.

The epiphany is that

day-light is wasting

and citizens need fruit

He neglects the tin tea-cup

on the broken-down fridge

which has since become

a make-shift tool-shaft

Behind the shack

next to the shackled dog (leash for what?)

is the four-wheeled “pacing steed”,

the quintessential business

He drags it out

with necessary roughness,

refusing to negotiate

with terrorists

that is,

the assortment of stones impeding.

En route to his supplier,

neighbours greet with encouragement,

happy to witness reformation

right before their eyes_

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Peculiar "Ph D" Khumalo, born and bred (and buttered) in White City, Soweto, the liveliest township in Africa in 1987. Attended Boarding School at Bophelo Impilo and Matriculated in 2007. While his erudite endeavours do not venture beyond Matric, he had long been told he had a way with words, a hype he still has a hard time believing. "Of all the pleasures of life, I relishes nothing more than a conversation over coffee" ☕