the lorry driver’s stressful glare
arms still joint akimbo,
next to him his iron monster
– Munya lies still
a smile lingers on His face hardly formed
i remember how his lips once whispered to mine
when we languished in love’s esteem

i still love You Munyaradzi
though Your arm is crushed like the breasts of age unbodiced
the crowds stream in, hardly summoned,
greasy heads peer through masses  of humanity
You despised them so
stares grip Your heaped past
yet You lie undisturbed
beneath the tatters of your clothes
which this morning You so earnestly pressed
I visualise Your caring face glowering
so much life You were owed such promise
Your face still shines
You lie there unhearing
proud like an everlasting pedagogue
eyes open, watching, seeing naught
at last You sleep.

go home
i’ve taken You this far
You leave me
An infant crying for its mother
Your memory will always remain
a cancer swelling within me,
go home Munyaradzi
the children call,
go home
the coach waits
they think they cover shame
go home
i follow close behind.