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

Sunday, December 24, 2017


Rindicella was a good girl.
She didn't kiss on the first date
She was always home by curfew
She ate healthy foods
She studied hard for matric
She listened to her mum on all conceivable occasions
When she cooked a lemon cake she always followed the recipe
She would save her smarties for later, thereby proving to all that she could delay gratification
She deserved a nice Jewish boy who would tie his laces dutifully, tithe his ten percent, devote himself to her upkeep, and massage his mother in law's feet instantly on request
Everyone agreed she would bring home something special one day.

Raski was a juvenile delinquent of the most atrocious habits
He lived in the castle on the hill and never ever listened to his mother
He would lie baking in the sun most mornings and drink fanta grape even when his mother said get that child out the sun he's headed for skin cancer
He would cut his laces short because he was so uncoordinated that he would trip over them, then not bother to even tie them and blow smoke rings at his father when he insisted upon some levels of decency in his home
He would borrow his aged mother's gold card to buy Cadburys whispers and petrol to visit the book exchange and never ever brush his teeth.
All in all a rotter to the core.

Jehovah was and still is the God of the eleventh hour deliverance and had been keeping a beady eye on these two children since they were babies
He also had a divine sense of humor, which as all of the compassionate mothers know, is the key to good matchmaking. He was hanging around the pearly gates with st Peter and cracking jokes about who was in and who was out this year when a red Volksie beetle shot into the drive thru
Without paying. St Peter's reaction was to shout WTF which in heavenly language means "want the falafel?"

Yes dear children, Rindicella had snuck in to heaven and out again without paying for her falafel.

Raski at the same time was deep into the latest Booker prize and as usual reading while crossing the road. Let me not tell you of Rindicellas steering skills but One thing and another Rindicella and Raski ended up eating falafel at a late nite teetotallers pub on the verge of known civilization. They found they both liked it crispy but not too overdone

The beginning of a long term long range long budget movie had kicked into gear. To cut a long story short Raski trimmed his toenails and his vocabulary and reading habits and everybody pulled in, or did they pull out? Whatever, in and out, up and down and around about and in the twinkling of an eye Raski and Rindicella had a brood of the most imaginative rascals.

They named their brood the Rindicella and Raski Rastafarian Rubbishes. This was to satisfy a codicil in uncle Bertys will that Raski be always referred to as that Ruddy Rubbish, but he turned it into a joke and insisted that he always take out the garbage on Monday mornings.

God is good.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Next instalment once the hangover has lifted.

PS Jules and Caits and Grandads gifts are hidden beside the chimney
Merry Christmas
Ross, Dad


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