The Simplest of Terms

By Joergen Ostensen

5.28.19

Written in Pretoria, following the inauguration of President Cyril Ramaphosa.

In the simplest terms

They must be saying

This is what it will sound like

At the end of things

As now the whirring, ripping,

Sky-wrenching planes planes fly low

Like geese in formation

And the air fills

With an ear crushing sound

While the lifeless engines of the machine

Struggle now against heaven and earth

And humanity and the sound barrier

Racing across the sky,

Inaugurating fear into the heart of the little child

Who tries to sleep on her mother's back

As she passes away the hours

Sitting beside the roadway

Among the broken glass and the pigeons and the doves.

This is what it did sound like

The day the new leader addressed the nation

Waving, smiling and promising a better future

In the simplest of terms

As the low flying bombers

Circled and re-circled

Burning the oil on this august occasion

As Cyril was given what was due Augustus

And a message was written in the contrails

To all looking at the heavens

A message addressed to all daring to remember

All who might question

On Saturday

A threat in the simplest of terms.

This is the new era now

As the sound barrier lies broken by the bombers

Like the glass bottles

Beneath the barefoot woman

Who wears a blue dress and begs on the corner

In the simplest of terms

While her baby's round eyes are wide open

Longingly watching the pigeons and the doves

Who are able to scratch out a decent life

Beneath the sun filled sky and the low flying planes

As the contrails send a message

Suicidal, in the simplest of terms

Answering every question

With low flying bombers

As if to say

This is what it will sound like

At the end of things.