Picture Seven

nothing about you will change,
I mean—
not your balm reaching for my lips
or the clinking when you need attention.
before me you were many names,
a fisherman’s friend,
a laborer’s reward,
a truth serum
but I call you knowledge.
you taught us the language of kwaito
and how to knit conversations around fires and women,
and make stories of how European you can be.
whether the world calls you a
1983 vintage K-bourg
you will still be a little old-ale pal of dad.

Ruddapoet