Observations, In the Free-State by Tumello Motabola

Tumello Motabola | Apr 20th, 2020 | poetry | No Comments


Those possessed with the body of a god – uncharted
had a slight clearing in the common town
brushing nonunion elbows against the novelistic culture
as only servants or visitors of a sacred place.
We passed outdoor restaurants with smoothly cut hedges
mercantile air, streaming from the faithfully watered lawns.
Hands holding flowers, hands.
we watched them sip vodka concoctions at 11 a.m.
pull and spew in lemonade glossa on the grass next to silver clutch-bags.
The girls put pink zinnia pins in their hair,
carry recyclable shopping bags wear polaroid glasses with no care of strangers who pass them or if they can smell those flowers.
Black straps burn on the scapula and the smell of sweet balm harvesting
pulls us from the street when we follow. When you step on hot pavement you don’t think the sun burns everything that to grows in between?
I am not a sadist but sometimes I put a little milk in my water.

Poet Bio

Tumello Motabola

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