ROBBEN ISLAND

The queasiness on the ferry ride

is but a small price for the

daze that awaits on the other

side of the shore.

An island.

Of dearth.

Death.

     Departures.

Too many of them.

An island to rob en masse

an entire race. 

It's where young men came to be

robbed of the last bit of self worth 

clinging on to their dark, beaten 

skins. 

 

Prisoners can't sail back to

where they come from.  

But minds travel.

Breakfast porridge becomes a

vessel for ferrying messages 

to one another.

A short, bald man, tells

all this softly. He knows.

He'd once been one of those

seditious messengers, an inmate

in the very prison where he's now

a tour guide.

On the way back, a giant hoarding

sells this island -- of horrors for 

the dark skin tones, of abundance 

for a pasty one -- as a modern wedding 

destination. A clip from the blurry 

documentary screened on the ferry 

flashes. A little white boy gushes 

about the island in his police officer

father's sprawling lawn. He can't think 

of living elsewhere.

Farther on, a group of kids play 

hopscotch. A lone boy struggles 

amid a pack of girls. He can't get 

his feet to fit the chalked squares. 

A feisty girl shows him the ropes.

He still stumbles.

Role reversals are seldom comfortable.