The Simplest of Terms
By Joergen Ostensen
5.28.19
Written in Pretoria, following the inauguration of President Cyril Ramaphosa.
In the simplest terms
They must be saying
This is what it will sound like
At the end of things
As now the whirring, ripping,
Sky-wrenching planes planes fly low
Like geese in formation
And the air fills
With an ear crushing sound
While the lifeless engines of the machine
Struggle now against heaven and earth
And humanity and the sound barrier
Racing across the sky,
Inaugurating fear into the heart of the little child
Who tries to sleep on her mother's back
As she passes away the hours
Sitting beside the roadway
Among the broken glass and the pigeons and the doves.
This is what it did sound like
The day the new leader addressed the nation
Waving, smiling and promising a better future
In the simplest of terms
As the low flying bombers
Circled and re-circled
Burning the oil on this august occasion
As Cyril was given what was due Augustus
And a message was written in the contrails
To all looking at the heavens
A message addressed to all daring to remember
All who might question
On Saturday
A threat in the simplest of terms.
This is the new era now
As the sound barrier lies broken by the bombers
Like the glass bottles
Beneath the barefoot woman
Who wears a blue dress and begs on the corner
In the simplest of terms
While her baby's round eyes are wide open
Longingly watching the pigeons and the doves
Who are able to scratch out a decent life
Beneath the sun filled sky and the low flying planes
As the contrails send a message
Suicidal, in the simplest of terms
Answering every question
With low flying bombers
As if to say
This is what it will sound like
At the end of things.
