The Wedgwood Bed and Breakfast,
Are my eyes opening in a dream?
Or is a dream opening my eyes?
The furniture in the room floats
In steel–grey half–light
The side table swims towards me
It brings me my cellphone
Natural light at 5:30am?
I am far away from home.
In the front garden of The Wedgwood
A bird stutters a song about loneliness
With a wave of the television remote control
I summon the seers to tell me how today will be
Here the results of the weather check:
Young people battling the police
In front of an iconic university building
A bleeding priest being led into a church
A bus burning in the middle of a street
Young men looting a sportswear shop …
A stubborn dream is opening
The eyes of the young
It is another spring in Johannesburg.