Thursday Poem

House of the Poor

When I was a little boy
I never questioned why
A solitary path
Led from a poor man’s hut.

Why it zigzagged
Like the trail of a wounded beast.

Now that I’m a burdened man
I know why the rich are troubled
When we grumble.

by Mzi Mahola
from When Rains Come
Publisher: Carapace Poets,
an imprint of Snailpress, South Africa