Tortured Topheth Town
drowning on the closing page of winter
along the filth stained streets,
downtown Cape Town,
i walk upstream
through the sea of turnstile smiles
searching for a drop of sincerity.
drifting towards my vagrant home
with struggling sluggish steps,
my starved, lethargic
lactic acid legs
weigh heavy
hiking hungry.
trapped in a wayward ever-mend
cul-de-sac
at a blue traffic light,
my crippled compass
passes the warning signs
of humdrum sighs,
silencing my whistled
barbed wire lullabies
under suffer’d sulfur skies.
basking in cold-shoulder greetings
and downtrodden dismissals
my empty rag pocket bags
offer no trump cards or blankets
on the bone chilling pavements
of this tortured Topheth town.
September sings
springs song
as my ember flickers
under soaked socks
and shredded sneakers,
waiting for the sun
to dry my wings
and fly me westward
from these deacon blues
towards the beacon view
shining life anew.
