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Monday, 20 August 2012

Massacre in Marikana

My number is seventy eight
You may call me ‘little silver’
My resistance to corrosion
Even at high temperatures
Is known to be remarkable

I formed the basis of the crowns
Of a British king and his queen
Here in South Africa I lie
Hidden deep down below the ground
Waiting for you to extract me
 
In recession my value falls
Less demand for my services
Your catalytic converters
And your expensive jewellery
So little left to pay miners
 
Massacre in Marikana
Does it tug at your consciences?
Bullets, machetes and spears
What price your clean technologies?
What price your glittering trinkets?

© David Subacchi

South African police shoot dead striking miners
 
David Subacchi’s first English language collection ‘First Cut’ was published by Cestrian Press earlier this year. He is a regular contributor to ‘Poetry 24’.

4 comments:

Little Nell said...

What price indeed. Powerful stuff.

Anonymous said...

Thanks Little Nell.

David Subacchi

Anonymous said...

Here in the states this story was barely a blip. Thank you for connecting us to it. I hope more people get to see this poem. Well done.

Anonymous said...

Thanks very much.

Dreadful scenes in a country that has suffered so much.

David Subacchi