So often it would come to this

And then it would come to this
Some wide road, empty and orange
East of the known world and alone
This is like that.
Carrying the valuables
Fielding unsuitables
Adding another ladder rung
Nut to the scaffold
And then some unknown road
Not long from morning
Gone missing
So often it would come to this.

He was a sensitive child with his own mind
Even when he could crawl
He'd show boredom with coeing adults
Turn his long thick torso to the grass
The probation officer fell in love
That bored him
A love that needs the valuables carrying
Hands too small
For any oedipal shield
Or sword
The archetypes we learn
Are not our own. Formative
Chinese whispers and trauma.
So often it would come to this.

His grandmother said
"Welcome to Africa"
Opened the door on a whitewash room
Just large enough for the inch thick mattress
In the morning she drove me to Robben Island.
I never saw her happier
And then sent me on, out to Observatory.
They said his granddad jumped off a block
In Angola, when the revolution was won
After he had bitten tears,
Blessed improper funerals
Seen the fruit
That grew from high ideals.
So often it comes to this.