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Poem

I
The railway is long gone
In the 1960s, Apartheid ethnic townships were grown
Where I sit now, is one - "Coloured" Newtown -
But raping of nature as culture, as steamship-pasts
When transported folk (colonial) found new castes
Around the globe - nation, race, faith - when the sun 
Never set on that Empire called England's Burden
Is what I deal with in Eastern Cape province
Where if U help clean, folk are not shamed 
but incensed - they throw diaper bags over your fence!

II
So what can I do, in old Newtown? More than once
Forgive! Then leave some flith near one's own fence!
It seems our folk hate clean: they urinate, pollute, frown -
So clearing rocks, daily for 3 years, in what I own
From soil that has more pebbles & stone 
Than what America calls good dirt (soil) ...
Allow love-ly weeds in my yard, bees come
As do indigo-hued wasps, butterflies galore
Some for my Marigolds; birds (Sapsuckers?) for Aloe
In my mind, I weave garlands for haters, mostly a neighbor
But garlanding reminds me of India, poor & beautiful
Where a billion folk coexist in nature: cobra, monkey, tiger -
As I garland Newtown, forgiving the ungrateful, 
To each other and especially those soft & kind
I pick each bottle top & plastic (stored?) but milk cartons 
Package gift of "potted" plants in such useful vehicles
Other containers recycled easily, and roofing tin
Where slow leaks ignored by landlord, make a pipeline
To my garden: rewarding me with peppers, herb, beans
Flowers, some true compliments, meditation, natural wins ....

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