Cape Town Days Poem by Gert Strydom

Streets are full of vivid bougainvilleas
while clouds start to touch Table Mountain,
white horses are running from the sea to the beaches
and the southeaster blows at its full strength.

Later in the afternoon the Table Mountain is stark,
naked and clear, the ocean stretches out tranquil and flat
with it dark blue much deeper in turning to green
and the hot Mediterranean sun basks in the sky

and you long to be on Clifton beach
between a myriad of topless girls
with shiny brown tanned bodies
and in your office you can almost smell

the coconut suntan oil,
can almost hear them talking
and their sweet laughter,
can almost taste the salt of the sea on the wind.