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.