fallow lands
idle hands –
the farmer entertains
the devil’s work
after questioning
his worth

two words run
incessant
marathons
in his mind:
“bone dry”

the cattle
huddle
herding away
from the
encroaching
drought

the acacia thorns
prick the static air
as the burg wind
lifts their cracking,
boughs forlorn

fire.
is.
imminent.

a long walk
on perforated heels
edges blur, slow-ly…

agony.
thirst.
fields.

stalks of corn, measly mielies,
throw their last
battered brown leaves
upwards
…in the hope of
photosynthesis

scorched earth.
resource policy.
at least wood offers easily
to braai polity
but, that is all…

water-logged
in the search for
blue gold.