Cityscape (Mikeena De Mongrel)

Rumble, rumble, rumble, goes the packed cart Tumble, tumble, tumble, goes the boy's heart And despite my fear of his dirt and size There was something more in him we despised Some reflection of self we did not know Ego and superego in turmoil contending For a better throne, a better history to know Than this broken man behind the rumbling cart His ice cargo melted by the sun before he starts. But we could not tell, for we did not know If it was his station menial, low Pedigree and task so trivial: He Had nothing for all his days pushing hard At other people's load; his misery Was us, treating him like the soiled discard Of human pity. We would not melt Daily across his hot desert of grief Our childish pranks did not cease, Frozen in colonial ways that brought non relief. His tyre shoes swoosh the street His temper like a missile chasing us "Mikeena de mongrel!" we jeered, the dust From my eyes and heart now I would delete. And give him again his peace in the street For we at the bottom of the stack Kept the pressure of class on his back For here was a man, the evidence of our past Before we flew the Union Jack half mast.