CENTKIE:

by staan met sy hoed daar
by die deur; the wind comes
flying in. Daar doer annerkant
die meul the flowers are
thrashing wheatthrush jam.
Jambpacked with energy the
hills skater van die lag.
Centkie is in town; the
funerals come to bluff with
windy rhinegobulows and wounded
buck, Centkie i see in the
doorway is stuck. What’s the
matter?’ cries out Stiefanie
from the floor. ‘Nothing’s
the matter i want some more;
meer geld vir die brood van
die Engelkroon; more truth
for the sound of a turn; more
junk to turn  the vice squad nice
more butchered  pork to outrinse
rising rice, ‘ sê Centkie.