by Lesego Thole

Parks are gone
inside the bellies of sloths
Not enough, what once was
Provocateurs shake the fabric
Of what gets the people going
Dancing smoke-mirror living
Film kicks that spin shifts
Met the hands of the mean
And kissed them days after
On the mountains their parents built
Those days on the swing
The memories they bring
But there are no more parks around here
Only empty broken cups
Steel warriors mother wants you home
The next Taxi leaves
Far from Bree Street
Their teens begin
Atmospheres of Rhythms & Blues
Post Mandela township ruins
Ghetto ruff with the Gallo Plan
Magic hands of the Mozambican man
But there are no more parks around here
Mostly dread children of yesteryear
A haunted city, Where so many pray
Play in their eyes, bright rain sweat
A country let them down
This inferno is home
Where the first heartbreak is the sun
There are no more parks around here
No picture memories, even those moved out.