Waiting

by Angela Prew

They wait
for jobs, for food,
for tomorrow.
They stand,
talk to friends,
smoke small rollups
of newspaper.
They stand
waiting,
waiting.

We arrive.
They sit along the wall.
“Molweni,” “Good morning,”
“Goeie More.”
Trays of peanut-buttered
bread,
urns of sweet, sweet
rooibos
to share between a hundred
hungry men.

We drive off,
waving goodbye. .
They drift away
to beg at street corners,
to wash windscreens,
to ring doorbells,
to wait.

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