snotneus en blonde krulle
klou virgodsnaam aan haar
bruin ma se gesmeek.
kwaai anties gooi gefrustreerd
nommers rond met vlieënde hande:
“’seblief tog! double too-tree,
djulle vis is klaar!”
agter die toonbank lyk die
man grieks, en is die
vrou klaarblyklik uit die oekraïne;
maar albei grom die moedertaal.
help-my-sterk-lyk brada
stap kapokhaan uit met ‘n footlong gatsby
in die hand; en almal
lyk sieklik onder die fluorescents.
sweet en asyn word sonder
comp lime nten oor tjips gesaai,
en een blondie frons vir haar slippie,
verseker sy’s gekul.
“mop die blerrie vloer, dan tog.” sê
nog ‘n tannie uit ongeduld,
en in die hoek daai bruinhaar seun
wat sy droefheid en gesig in sy pa
se bors begrawe.
Translation:
snotty nose and blonden curls
clings unmarred around
her mother’s begging.
flying hands of tired broads
fling numbers into the air:
“’double too-tree,
yo fish bein’ done!”
behind his sordid counter
the man is looking greek,
and wife clearly hails Ukraine;
but both are grumbling in the mother-tongue.
my-shirt’s-too-small-bro
roosters out with a footlong gatsby
in his grasp; and they all
look quite sickly in this light.
sweat and vinegar is sown,
with no bother, round on chips,
and one blondie scowls at her slip,
assured that she’s been had.
“mop this bloody floor, damn them.”
another madam says in pique,
an in the corner is that brown-haired boy
burying his face and woes
in his father’s breast.
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