A selection of poetry rooted in domestic humor, Cape Town and South Africa

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Garden Angel

Garden angel

A connoisseur of the formally informal handshake,
Usually I gloss, grip and release,
Quick eyecatch, then it’s business as usual.

Chronic avoider of the most distracted kind,
Often missing names first-off,
I normally duck and dive,
But the day I  meet you,
Something shifting and warm
Under your twinkle moves,
A quiet laughter, gentle, amused,
And I understand gay,
Though I'm as straight as Nelson's column,
And I laugh too,
Just for the sheer joy of the morning,

And as the twins respectfully watch the upended lawnmower being coaxed
back to health,
We all find a graceful ease from your mystical, faraway Lake Malawi
Overcome the household,
Birdsong somehow more audible,
The light, different?

Even the lady of the house
Has a kind word to say
about your way with weeds
And, cynic that I am,
I find myself humming,
thoughtfully, almost consciously
'And did those feet, in ancient times...'



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