The television will tell you
had you owned one
in 1975
when it came out
that being born white
in africa was quite simply
marvellous
heeltemal ongelooflik.
but then we had the run of the place
of course
the only constant is change
change is what you make it
I’ve been voting for the wrong party ever since
and still can’t find the keys to my car in the dark
parkinglot
or any change for the dude
In his yellow bib vest, and blue ribbed overalls
who is digging trenches in the heat
for my fibreoptic cables
who is reading my smart meter
that is not very clever
whose kids are in the public schools
learning about chatgpt
who makes nightly rendezvous on the closed
circuit television cameras
I have positioned all along the outskirts of my property
that is bordered by electric fencing
And an alarm system that is monitored
by a security service provider
his ghostly face quite white and clear in highdef HDMI
the very next morning while I
check the footage while drinking freshground fairtrade
coffee from ethiopia
Tapping out the story getting all the details down
the time what he was wearing the way his features
Almost shone, on my neighbourly whatsapp group
and wait for consolation, that free easy feeling
Of community. Of correctness. Of whiteness.
Yes, we went to the polls with everyone
singing the songs of freedom
eventhough we did not know
The words – it was good for business, there are some
good ones in amongst the bad apples that are always
Shipped straight from Ceres to the americas
while we get the second rate rot from
shopritecheckers
sixty60.
There was talk of reconciliation
and never any pogroms
In the highstake boardrooms owned by multinational
conglomerates of course
all the government parastatals
went to shit immediately, and we left in our droves
those that could
those of us who
had the unfortunate circumstance
of being born white in africa with
our british and european passports
hidden under our mattrasses like cold currency.
I switched allegiances many times
scoffing at the notion that I would naturally vote
DA. But who I was really voting for was not anc
That was the trick to remaining strategically optimistic
and radiantly newage to having black friends
Who would also braai on Saturday afternoons
and watch the Springboks win the rugby.
That was essential because the cricket was too white
still lying under the shroud of hansie how could he
Like the pot calling the kettle beset on all sides
The ossewaens outstaged at the river running
muddy and brown.
Back in the city, not the parts that are
overrun the metro police are stopping
Taxi drivers and letting the madams in
their SUVs go.
And the outfitters are falling over them
selves to shelf new oversized hiphop t-shirts
That make our teens look like they’re about
to mob and rob the local convenience stores
And we’re ok with that, we bop our heads to these new sounds
that come pounding through their closed bedroom doors
thinking about the metal they would almost
certainly be listening to
if this were only 1990 and things were
like they were. Back then. When
You know.
I’ve been studiously avoiding the more
obvious analogies afraid of being cancelled
Or too marginalised to any more give a shit
having seen my rightful retirement age slip
From 65 down to 55 down to 45
to get shown the door and I’m sitting in a gathering
There are two of us left and the lady speaker
has things in her hair and her outfit is sharp
And traditional and she is saying
And everyone is applauding
how the transformation targets
have almost been met
and I’m wondering about my son
and how we worship entrepreneurs
and how the guys at the bowling club catch water
from the government tap in large plastic holdalls
and take it in a requisitioned woollies trolley
and sell it down the road for 50c a cup.
How the guy at the robot has a sign that says
Smile
As if we’re all on candid camera and it’s 1975
all over again except this time we’re watching
The Test Signal waiting for Leon Schuster to come on
and show us how to wear a mask.
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