two perfect crystal glasses

driving through the bush veld
on our way from somewhere
going nowhere in particular
the road, long, black
shimmering with mirages
there it stood, a farm stall
more of a lean to really
built of cracking planks, grey with age
and a rusty corrugated iron roof
the sign was large and clear
"ice cold home made ginger beer"
the car tyres abandoned the smoothness
deserting the tarmac for the bump and slide
of the stony, dusty roadside
as he hit the brakes
the sound of sliding gravel
the motor switched off
the country silence engulfed us
i open the car door and swing my legs out
my new white sneakers land with a plop
on the thick dust and gravel
i glance down at my shoes
now coated with a fine red film
the angry heat sears my throat
the air is as dry as a dowager's skin
we lope over to the semi shade
where the rusty iron roof juts out a little
behind the makeshift counter is a smiling face
and a tin bath, full of ice, somewhat melted
swimming in the frozen water
old two litre cola and lemonade bottles
long emptied of their original contents
filled now with that nectar of the gods
"ice cold home made ginger beer"
happily, we bartered money for liquid sustenance
the work worn hands which accompanied the smiling face
lifted a full bottle from the bath
it rested on the stained and dusty counter
melted ice and the dew of evaporation
sliding down the bottle
gathering in a wet ring
where wood and plastic met
the smiling face turned and from beneath the counter
produced, two perfect crystal glasses

All materials Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann