The Barbed Balustrades Banter
I have to lock four shy doors to get out of our apartment and their bulky assertiveness would almost blemish the strength of my curiosity. The landlord said in a husky voice that in South Africa, it is safer to wait
for licenced taxis
in the safe sheltered shadow
of the barbed wires fences.
The Atlantic blew misconceptions in its wintry voice. Cape Town is a light blue gateway to Africa and the wind is opinionated and jealous. The ships don’t sink anymore today in the Cape of Good Hope
but I think my heart did.
It was a hot Sunday and my ears were whistling from humming
the short night away
in a hip hop nightclub on Long Street.
We’ve been on quixotic walks up Table Mountain searching for
revelatory Wordsworthian moments
and scenic sweat
‘Someone lit the mountain on fire AGAIN’
The man said ‘they closed the cableway today”
We walked up with light hearts and heavy backpacks
too much eagerness yet not enough water.
But on the Mountain there are no fences.