Church Street, Tulbagh

The dutch settler houses all turned now

To tarted up cafes, boutiques

emporia of nothing you need

And shady trees, quiet traffic

And none of the life of the high street

One block away.

The country straining 

for modern respectability

Takes itself too seriously

Imagines every itch and scratch is consequential

Cannot accept that after war comes peace

And insignificance

That living free is transformative enough

Recreates, imitates, Carmel.

Walker bay disappearing below

An early winter fog

Momentary cloud breaks, details of the shore

There is no sunshine, rainbow anymore.

It's the triumph of the much despised liberal,

Those who sought stability, a normalcy

In which they could live lives of peace, prosperity

And pay just such a price as is required

They'll speak the language of the

Post modern politically correct

And shrug off the governors' shenanigans, incompetence

Call it a toll on freedom's highway

So long as they let me go my way, live my life.

It's in the small places, the country seems relaxed

Less anxious about itself, its image

About its politics,  worth, respect

And whether it is keeping up with time.

 © Philip Knight 2018