On the square

My motorbike is at a garage for a service
and when I return from work
I cross the square
to catch a buss
in Paul Kruger street.

There are hawkers selling sweets,
fruit, newspapers
and food
and people
walking to and fro.

This afternoon he is
on holy ground
with a shouting bugle
that yells to people
not to give money
but their hearts to Jesus Christ.

I wonder what uncle Paul
would think
about the neat black preacher
who is standing right against him
and the group
that listens soberly

and see grey-blue doves
picking up crumbs of bread
and I am glad
to drive my motorbike tomorrow again.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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