Summer in Cape Town
If I had to go down to the beach,
Would it be with a book?
Or with life and surf boards?
Or just with that far-away look
that says ‘If I could take the warmth of the sun and give it to you, what then?’
Come bearing towels like newly wrapped gifts,
sand clinging like confetti
waiting happily for some soothing sermon
or watching out for Darwin at Queen’s beach.
It does not matter:
dress code informal,
cash-bar happy.
You and the person right next to you
both blissed out on looking forward.
Tired at the end of it all.
And you sleep with after-sun gel under the pillow, just in case it helps,
like slithered fruitcake, to salvage the future
You move behind my retina,sighted in some dimly lit hall.
I can hold you there
before you evaporate, methodic drops, rhythmic beach bat on ball
and laughter cracks the image, tingling champagne.
Strong current, you.
I must swim out
to where the weeds of the ocean devise
a ray of light to hide the dark pools of your eyes.
Broken coral costumes.
The form of day diminished,
hazily pronged, refrain of touch over shower taps.
But by morning I venture an RSVP again,
because by morning the sunburn will wane.
"My natural inclination is to write poetry in Afrikaans. But I also like writing poetry as commissioned work. The first stanza of this English poem was published by the Cape Town magazine called 021 at the end of 2010. They wanted a beach theme." |
