MUIZENBERG
SUMMER
Clouds
stained a dirty grey
oppress
the looming mountain,curl round the rocks,
and rumble empty threats of rain.
In the air, a faint scent
of damp ground and,
a metal taste of lightning.
Leaves shake a little,
cling a bit more tightly to the stem,
but grass, pale and wilting,
bends down in the wind
to touch the white, dry sand.
NEW
YEAR IN THE EASTERN CAPE
At dawn −
an urgent bugle call
notes like trumpet blasts run
up the scale and down again.
It’s some bird – a shrike or hornbill
making leaves shake in the ngwenya tree
A coucal in the hedge
pours liquid music from its beak.
In the distance a car drones −
early on the narrow country road.
I hear the dogs bark, look out,
see
them chasing
a slithering leguaan into
the disused swimming pool.
Bees bundled in the eaves
resume their swarming.
I can smell coffee brewing, bacon frying.
Everything is up and stirring
pretending to be new
.
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