PAROW
the main road
bisects the town
left
side
right side
upside
and down
almost straight as an arrow
barely curving
until it hits the mountain
straight as
the truth
you do
believe in
and that’s
adieu to this flat flat
piece of real estate
tough
little piece of raw lower
class
landscape
between the Hottentots-Holland and
Rondebosch garden
whose vaulting supremacies
did cut my
wisdom teeth on
flouncing around
in my red robe that most
intellectual
of days
not that
they would really let
me forget
I was scion of Parow
denizen of
sprayshop, scrapyard,
bottlestore and bazaar
longing for
False Bay coast line
and sleepy surf hollow
dreaming night dreaming
to the crash of
Indian Ocean waves
the odd great white
out there ploughing those waters
preserving
divine balance
still
listing and longing for
the pure
Poseidon of
that place
now
so far inland embracing
my life’s
semi-desert
remembering
Parow childhood
my 60s, 70s
ancient history
seems infinite the distance
from there where
once was
to
creature, strange soul,
typing this here
the main
road
still bisecting
now
and forever