I’ve never been one for national pride but every so often
you have to stand up and respect the flag.
I
do it for the love
Winter cold and summer heat
as Gaborone’s streets welcome
me, the scent of hotdogs cooking
on the grey of asphalt, the taste of
onions and tomatoes running
down my tongue, the sound of
horns blaring at orange traffic lights,
we’re running, little boys in black
school shoes playing ball outside
this old man’s yard while he drinks
his tea and dreams of the first Khama’s
days, he waits to welcome his hero’s son,
waits to lift his hand, to cast his ballot,
waits to show his love for blue, black
and white like everyday I wake to show
my pride in this brawling, crazy city’s
sights.
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