(after S. J. Pretorius)
When the yellow sun starts to draw long lines
just before it descends over the distant hillocks
the streets of the town is filled with cars
of the great mishmash driving home.
Suntanned with hats covering there heads
I see white car guards taking their belongings,
men who had lost their jobs, now with their world insane
walk with lowered heads with their faces grim
while some stretch their steps much longer.
They had a work at a time
but now are sun burnt with rough hands,
sometimes on welfare of the local church
with their eyes hidden by the edges of their hats
while they dream of a country where jobs are plentiful.
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