Summers day


It was a hot day and a good excuse for the bums to go swimming. If you dared opening your window, the mosquitoes would come and suck your warm blood. They liked it warm, the same way you loved your coffee in the morning
Ice creams fell off their cones, dessert for the ants and sex in the bedroom felt like sex in a sauna, no 48 hour protection roll on could mask the scent of hot sex.
The heat got into your bones and under your skin until you soaked in it. Hopefully the cold comes tomorrow and lifts the skirts and dresses of the women walking by. It’s not summer without a flash of flesh


Dangerous legs


I woke up feeling like shit expelled from the tightest asshole. The sky glowed amber like the tip of a cigarette, minus the ashes. Throwing the duvet aside, I rolled my brown 87kg body out of bed and landed on the floor. A bit of brown liquid floated in the black labelled bottle of Johnnie Walker, standing upright in front of me. I took a swig and got up, finding my balance. Upon entering the lounge, I  heard a crumpling sound underneath my right foot. Had I just crushed someones bones? No, it was just an empty beer can. There was a note lying on the table that read “Come watch me tonight. C” marked with cherry red lipstick underneath the words.

    I slept as most of the day passed by. Listening to the sounds of hooters, bumper to bumper traffic and road rage all in the beautiful name of capitalism, the thing that fucked us over after democracy. I got a white shirt, blue jeans and black shoes out of the cupboard, got dressed and sprayed on some generic cologne. The lights in the club were dim, except in the center of the stage where the band played. They looked like penguins in their tuxedos. The double bass player plucked on his strings vigorously. I ordered a whiskey from the bar man who was dressed like the band and didn’t make the cut. It was only after taking a sip of whiskey that I found her amongst thr identically dressed cabaret girls, swinging their legs high up in the air and she had the best pair of legs on stage. The men jeered as soon as the legs went up, hoping to something magical up there. Chelsea’s show ended after my second whiskey. She approached me with arms spread out, wearinga black fur coat, white tank top and black booty shorts hidden behind all the fur.

    “Hey, you came” she said, her smile wide and her arms around me.

    “Of course. I couldn’t miss those legs. They got everybody excited” I replied.

    She was beautiful with those full Angelina Jolie lips of hers. I kept that to myself. Compliments sent a chill of discomfort throughout her body and made her anus clench up tight.
    We walked down the crowded street. The dry pavement quenched of its thirst as neon lights reflected off of it, rippling in the puddles.

    “Let’s get something to eat” I said after five minutes down the road.

    We headed inside an old diner that looked like a recycled prop out of the film Grease. The neon sign flickered outside from “open 24 hours” to “open 2 hours”. We ordered waffles. Hers with ice-cream, mine with whipped cream and maple syrup. Suddenly two men came bursting through the door, each with his own pistol. “Do as we say and nobody gets hurt” said the short one. Everybody froze and I wondered if waffles would be my last meal. They took everyone’s wallets, cleaned out the cash register and left the same way they came in. They didn’t bother with the bum in the corner who came in every night for a free cup of coffee. He still had his foam cup full of coins. The waffles were free and Chelsea’s legs were safe. Everything seemed alright.

    Wine Haiku’s


    Hi fine wine,

    Good for my health

    Better than dessert

    Bottle on the shelf

    Come home with me

    Safe inside my glass
    For out of wine

    comes a splendid truth 

    That won’t be sober

    The fly


    I heard two flies behind my curtain. It sounded as if they were going at it. The violent vibrations of their wings suggesting rough sex. One came out, whizzing and whirling past me; charging hard and slamming into the wall and sometimes the mirror. Was this a suicide attempt? If it was, it was persistent. There were times when the fly hit the wall… silence, and I hoped that it had succeeded, but two seconds later the wings would start up again.

    I finally began to understand why he did what he did. His lover laid on the floor, flapping her wings and unable to fly. The flaps grew slower and slower until they were no more. He watched as it happened. His little fly heart breaking, seeing no point in living without her. How romantic and tragic. Romeo, Juliet and Shakespeare would be proud.

    I awoke the next morning and found him next to my bed. He succeeded. He was somewhere having dead dreams about them being in Paris, flying over the Eiffel tower and resting on the stinkiest blue cheese they could find.



    You approached me, a stranger to you on his way to his car with his woman by his side. You began to explain to me how you were stranded without fuel in your car. You appealed to the goodness within me. The side that always seems to take over when hearing of someone in need. Perhaps it was the look of genuine need in your eyes that won me over, but I’m sure you practised that look more than enough times on countless others before me. 

    I could tell by the look in my woman’s eyes that she was reluctant for me to help you, but I looked at it as an opportunity to help someone in need, blinded by my faith in humanity. We walked to the ATM and I withdrew a blue Mandela for your car. You began to spew about how grateful you were, but the moment you turned your back, you knew that you had played me a fool. My woman and I ran to the car to watch if you were really going to buy fuel, finally we spotted you and it was clear that you had no intention of buying any. Wherever you are, I hope that you are proud of yourself for suckering another person who was simply trying to help you.

    Things I see – rough draft


    ​Teenage pregnancy and drug dependency. Single mothers pop pills because of societal ills. Those snotty nosed broken clothed children knocking on your door for food, are the same kids I walk past everyday in the hood. Houses in the burbs build their walls high enough to make sure they never knock on the front door. Parents use kids as sympathy pawns right after they’re born, but all they really want to do is shoot up. Toss their babies in the garbage can waiting for the garbage man to find another lifeless baby crying out “save me”. You won’t hear it though, another life that wont grow.
    We pull up to the red light turning a blind eye. Your change could buy him a meal to make him whole, but the only place you’ll find him now is in a hole, buried six feet under amd i wonder. How many times people look at him with disgust and distrust? But he’s got to wear that face because it’s hard to smile when the life he’s living is barely worthwhile.
    Dope dealers ride Range Rovers, paying the price by taking another brothers life. Gone too soon yet again, these problems that stem from the promise of material gain. The lucky ones make it out with stitches while the rest lie and die in ditches.

    Last week I attended a funeral, you know, the usual. Tears and sobs. I heard the guy got shot, not for dealing pot, for that crack cocaine that you shoot up in your veins. He sold on another man’s turf, filled him with holes, making sure he never walks this earth. We don’t have grass in front of our yards, just hard exposed ground filled with stones. When a body drops, all the blood covers it and you know they say it’s hard to get blood out of stone.

    Uitenhage market square observations


    I sat against the only palm tree in the market square, shielded from the light of the white sun. Beyond me, lie ahead grey skies, looking ready to rain down on anyone not sheltered at any second. The library had it’s own defenses. Tall metal gates in front of transparent glass doors protecting the literature it held inside. Literature that outlived most people. Two little girls came walking up to the square, sharing a peach amongst themselves. It was clear that they were not well off, judging by the state of their clothes. The younger seemed the crybaby out of the two, her wailing filling the congested air whenever the older one ran ahead. It wasn’t too long after that when a dark man dressed in blue overalls sat down on a bench not too far from me.       He opened a lunchbox to reveal his store bought burger, taking a huge first bite.     A homeless kid who walked right by me made his way to Overalls. The kids clothes were torn and his sandals were falling apart, barely holding together. I could tell that he wanted the burger, his eyes grew bigger upon seeing it. Overalls wasn’t budging. He reached into his right pocket, took out some spare silver and handed it to the kid. Behind me, the sky was blue. I was caught in the middle as the clear sky and clouds waged war. A war memorial monument behind me, great and grey, read “In honoured memory of brave and faithful men of the native and coloured races from this town and district who also gave their lives for King and country in the great war.” Underneath these words were the names of soldiers who fought in the wars – WW1 and WW2. The names were vandalised with graffiti by kids who would shit themselves and cry for their mother’s at the sight of death. I looked up again and the cloudy grey sky seemed to be winning.