There was a torment
There was a torment
hovering
like a halo of black thoughts
that day after mass
as he dug Stamping down
the rain heavy grass
where the two peeled logs and coil of rope
waited soon to be erected
now the boys were old enough.
Their excitement a torn veil
of little protection
they slashed at the clouds of mosquitoes
with poplar switches slapping
bare legs above the chapped gumboot line
knees red and welted
He jammed the crowbar into the soft clay
glaring into that dark earth
as the neighbours picked their way
up the muddy drive
Their Sunday suits and shiny shoes
announcing their intentions
Never take a day off
Their southern Baptist Bible drawl
laughter
not hiding their meaning
Building a swing for the kids
become work
he spat
not looking up
pointin down the rutted road
turning his back saying no more
The boys smirking behind their hands
watching them go
leaving him alone
