Jasmatbhai is driving
his van along Carrington road,

he is seventy eight,
he is on his way to help
run his family’s fruit market,
he is a follower
of Gandhi’s principles,
of peace and forgiveness,
he is driving his blue van

across an intersection
by the second gate
of the Unitec campus,
by the main gate
of a primary school

he brakes too late,
his van collides
with the BMW ahead,
causing dents, minor damage

the young owner
of the black BMW
cannot tolerate,
this thick-armed student,
this bodybuilder, this car lover
flies out his BMW
opens the van and pulls
the elderly pacifist out,
throws him across the kerbside
and proceeds to redden the grass,
deaf to the man’s pleas
and promises of reparation

Jasmatbhai is beaten
and beaten and beaten
until a resident pulls
his attacker away.

He is not moving now.
The police have arrived.

Only thirteen minutes afterwards
the resident notices the dark
stains all over his own pants
and lower shirt, his hands:

he can see at once
there is too much blood.