Ballade of the entrepreneur
I
On the way to the office
Jacaranda trees are flowering,
here and there some people stop me
asking for a cigarette,
some want a Rand or two
and the day is very bright after the night of pleasure.
There are smoke fumes curling into the air at Iscor,
a train passes groaning on the track,
while machines are whining unendingly.
The girl at reception smiles at me
and bend over so that I see her well-proportioned breasts
before she blushes,
men with white helmets and white coats
rush into my office
and quickly I give attention to figures and sketches
until everything around us suddenly goes silent,
a thunderous bang whips somewhere in the factory
and somebody screams hysterical
and I run quickly
to where smoke clouds are rising,
where people in confusion are talking.
II
A worker has been killed, has been shocked dead
by a machine of which I had drawn up the plans
and other employees are seperated from him.
Fear cuts right through me
that a medical doctor will have to come
and that I will have to avoid him.
Immediately I make corrections to the machine,
that nobody can lay a finger on me,
before he gets attention and I am calmer
and to his wife I will say that he was stupid,
had gone against guidelines,
did not want to fit into the company’s plans.
The employees are astounded from shock
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poem by Gert Strydom
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