A city poem

-->

A strange joy-

Is the Joburg sun,

Burning the sk”eye”

And piercing itself on the thorny

Protrusion of city.

Green, orange and red are

My knuckles round

The steering wheel.

I hear

The homeless talk

And swing plastic crucifixes against cold glass.

I am afraid

But not for the dark alleys

or their slick shadow of black

Cat

that lick the walls

and dance on dustbin lids.

Nor am I afraid of the night

as it stomps its feet,

clicks its heels and shimmy slides

to the whispers of a devils jazz.

I am afraid of the true, blue rhythm of  my heart

making space for a place

 I know nothing about

save for the river of gold coursing through its veins.

I make peace with the day and the

traffic it caused to cross my path.

I turn the key and feel the tired hum of fan and

movement slowly cool and switch to sleep.

Is this, this?

This feeling sleep?