This is an extract from a short story I wrote, so it is not really poetry at all. It is a paragraph about people on the streets in Cape Town. Most of the people described are based on truth.
There was the proud lady who asked only for water,
the wizened man with the startling beard,
the child who carried a letter telling of her troubles,
the young schizophrenic who swayed on one leg for hours and then burst into a heated tirade,
the man with the recorder,
the one with the club foot,
the wire flower seller,
the card seller,
the bead seller,
the sweeper,
the leaf-raker,
the candlestick maker,
the one who helped you park your car,
the one who guarded your parked car,
the ones who cleaned your car windows while you stopped at the robots.
No comments:
Post a Comment