September 15th, 2025
by Leanne Hunt
He swivels towards you, all fumble and fright,
Then backs away clutching his clatter of keys –
Putting between you the gate's grill to gain
A moment's reprise, to murmur regret
That he's keeping you waiting – and yet
He whisks out a hankie, prolonging the pause,
A silver-toothed sliver slides into its slot –
Then the gate hinges forward, rails beating the sunlight,
Parade-ground hot as the second-hands tick,
In the chamber pins pop – then click.
Now wracked with distraction, he pockets the keys.
Fixing his eyes on your hand held out –
By habit he mirrors your courteous gesture,
His grip is stout, though his skin betrays stress.
And suddenly – you guess.
But there's no undoing what you've set in motion,
No way of pretending you didn't read
His detachment as disinterest, so walk away bravely.
You may yet be freed – your prison of pride,
At last and with candour – thrown wide.
About the Poet
Leanne Hunt resides in Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Leanne Hunt's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Comet #6,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in South Africa Poetry Magazine:
Faith Scrolling on the Street
by Thapelo Matemana
South Africa Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
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