The Other Dagga Smoker’s Prayer

Leaves rolled into gum poles
Lined up with the law
Separating thee from me – 
Saviour from Sinner;
Released from Pollsmoor
And already wooed into hiding
Behind the bushes of Grassy Park
Past the mosque on Busy Corner
Where the hippos laugh with a calf,
Jaws open, devouring the statutes
Stored away and tied up with pink bows.
           So thank you, God
           For the joys of a Puffing Billy
           Chuffing away in our dreams,
           On sleepers rolled out for the railway
           Taking us to Never-Never Land,
           Where all we’ll want is another draw
           Tranquilised into clouds of unreality,
           Looking left and right in case there’s a cop
           Though all they’d want is one of ours
           Before we’re back to square one
           As they lock us up.
These weeds be cursed and deeds reversed;
We’re trapped and sapped of goodness
When I know I should be rid of it.
But the habit dies hard,
Surviving until we fizzle out,
Becoming nothing but a human
With a sizzled brain, reduced to ash
That goes up with the smoke
That signals a new-found pope.
Maybe he’ll hear my cry,
Grasping at something like straw.
June 2013 

Around Zeekoevlei in the Cape Peninsula, South Africa.

See also A Dagga Smoker's Prayer