Albasini Dam

Oom Piet at Albasini,

severs an earthworm

on rough dry thumbs,

then patiently mimics rejoining it

to make sure I’d seen how.

There’s been a drought for years,

and Abasini Dam tauntingly shimmers

away from the parched vegetation,

now long abandoned

by the ebbing water and cloudless 
Transvaal skies.

Our bamboo rods lie, bridging dongas

that furrow the exposed lake bed.

The sun annexes the chirping of crickets

and marries it into mirages 
that simmer from the love grass
and splendid acacia.

Oom Piet hooks his half of the worm
(The memory of the veins in
his dark forearms impresses me still.)

and nods kindly as I successfully follow suit.

He picks up his rod and casts

before ducking slightly as I do the same.

The two floats, whittled from pine bark,

jitter on Albasini's sparkle.

Oom Piet lovingly affords mine more attention
than his own,

silently willing it into a plunge

and a fish.