Long Street Lost

Amidst the biltong and bunny chow,
Boerewors hang in links,
The malva pudding
Pulls at your tongue,
While trotters and beans
Waft from distant alleys and arid shadows.

I’m Long Street lost,
Caught in the scents,
In the Afrikaans lyric,
In that larcenous streetwalker’s smile.
I am craving Vetkoek and a glass of pinotage.
I am craving your heart at my side.

Long Street gleams,
European and white,
Its pillars teeming
With musty Victorian pride,
An oasis of ego
In the Khoisan’s tale.

Most tourists chatter
In German and English,
Happily secure, caught,
In this Cape-trap
Laid out for their wallets, for greenback smiles.
Long Street sighs,
Its daily mission complete.

They peruse the Giraffes
Shadow boxed in faux teak frames,
the plaster casts of Table Mountain,
Stroking grimy Zebra pelts,
And the jaw of a Leopard
Cast in China.

The rhythms thrum,
Hip Hop and Botswanan,
Madonna, Coleske and Ogada.
The Cape’s wine runs deep into the night.
This is Africa -
Gird your soul, guard your blood.