I don’t get it...

Simple questions sometimes strike my mind

And most begin with the word why...

Why does my ass always itch in public?

Unlike my pubic

I cannot disguise it with my hands in my pockets

But when I’m chilling in private

The itch never arises,

I just don’t get it.

Why do they say, “Life is not a bed of roses”?

I feel it comes in various doses;

In good times it’s sweet to noses

And in bad times it’s thorny,

Like when you can’t think of a word that fits and rhymes with noses

And you’re supposed to be a poet

I just don’t get it.

Why do poets pretend to be stage shy?

On stage, with a crowd, sharing your mind

Must be nice to live a lie.

I just don’t get it.

Why does a crowd gather after the event?

A lady’s getting mugged

At that point, no one could be bugged

But don’t worry, you’re in luck

The heroes were in traffic

They were just stuck

I just don’t get it.

Why do I need credit to get more credit?

Banks won’t lend if I don’t borrow

It’s a logic I just don’t follow.

Why is heaven up and hell down, but the universe is is all around?

It is a theory that is far from sound

Yet one to which we are all bound

I just don’t get it.

Why do people ask to ask a question?

And why do they ask, “You know what?”

I neither have psychic powers nor am I telepathically gifted

So no, I don’t know

Do not ask stupid questions just for show.

Why do people lie to Eugene at the traffic lights?

He might be broke, but he ain't blind

Your ashtray is in his sight

And those coins are gleaming bright

Tell him the truth,

You’re too greedy to share your loot

Or just go the parking ticket route.

Why do people say, “The good old days”?

What was so good about a world war and its sequel

That bombed out at the box office?

What was so good about apartheid or Biko’s fate?

What was so good about the ancient USA

Killing a prophet with nails;

On a cross,

What a loss.

What was so good about Lumumba’s fall

Conspired in some CIA hall?

What was so good about genocide

So you can set aside an entire isle

For the queens bile?

What was so good about selfish land rape?

And after she bled all her riches

There is now red tape.

All we can do is stand on stage

Behind a thick velvet drape,

That is the only poverty escape...

Oh wait,

I’m still broke

Because I refuse to be fake.

What a take,

Maybe get off stage.

I just don’t get it.

Why do we fight for peace

In the name of the same G.O.D?

Why is food not free?

How can one president tell another how to lead

And why does the world ignore that president’s greed?

Why is it so hard for nations to agree?

Why can’t motherfuckers just say, “I’m sorry”?

Why is it so hard to live heavenly?

And the biggest question of all,

What is poetry?

I just don’t get it...

Thabiso Nkoana©