I Vuvuzela
Alone I sound like a wandering drunk,
Meandering among potholes in the dark,
A mournful and haunting cry, the ghost
Of things lost and might have beens.
But in a giant concrete bowl I join the horde,
Blow out with thousands and more, and howl
And roar out my rage and fear and love.
This is our only way to show emotion,
Our triumph and our loss. I know that now.
I must channel my hopes and fears
Through this flimsy garish child's trumpet,
Like the trumpets at the end of the world.
Pour my heart into the general uproar,
Fill my lungs, rattle my ribs, deafen the ears.
No matter what the field is doing, whether
We have won or lost, I must shout out
My need for justice, vibrate my ears
And shake with apocalyptic sound,
Empty my chest of pent-up anger and love,
Pour it out through the vuvuzela mouth.
The baas who has been difficult all week -
Blow him away; the wife who nags and nags -
See her float into the sky! The countless divots
Of modern life, politicians, loan sharks lurking
On the corner, bites that smart and sting.
God bless Africa, we all sing in mindless love,
Trudge home sated and replete, and safe
From the waiting cops until next week.
Liz Davies