“It’s bizarre,” said Mike,
his head sinking lower
towards his pint
on the evening before
his Business Class flight.
A London stopover was agreed
with a night at a fine hotel each way.
It gave him time to visit the office of the ANC
for briefing or debriefing, as always on these jobs.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Anti Apartheid campaigner,
drinking another beer
in the back street pub.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Young Communist
grown older
sinking more beers.
“It’s bizarre,”
said the Professor of Criminology,
employed by the government of South Africa
to advise on policing the townships,
as he ordered another beer.
“It’s bizarre,” said Mike
his head sinking lower
towards his pint.
“It’s bizarre.”
He drank another beer
just in case they’d noticed,
just in case it was his last.
https://www.literaryheist.com/poetry/its-bizarre/
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