She
was just sitting
there
doing
crosswords
on her phone
waiting for
the assistant
to upgrade
her phone
I saw
her blue bra
cupping her curves
her oblivious
to the stir
in the waiting line
She
I can see
the glow
of her
cigarette
her space
is dark
I see another
small glow
incence?
smells
like rosemarie
in the snow
I wonder
who she
is blessing
today
I wish
it was me
She
Is just siting there
Swaying
In her deck chair
Only her slim ankles
visible
Through
the winter attire
and I wonder
what she is thinking
I wonder
If he is worth
her thoughts
Nothingness
She stares
at the dead roses
in the crystal vase
wondering
when did they die?
why didn’t she notice?
she shrugs
her shoulders
lights a cigarette
and sips
red wine
from a crystal glass.
‘n verrassing in Calvinia
in ‘n towerkamer
in Calvinia
het ek
‘n boek
ontdek
die gasvrou
Sonja
het in kleur
en geur
soos haar
gastehuis
verduidelik
die storie
is losweg
gebaseer
op die lewe
van Voog Theron
geskrywe
deur sy dogter
twee hoofstukke
later
los ek
die boek
op my feetjiebed
en pak die pad aan
na Bloemfontein
6 dae later
in Pretoria
betaal ek
vir die boek
dis nie ‘n boek
vir vinnig lees nie
dis ‘n boek
om te waardeer
‘n skrywer
wat met woorde
toor
en jou
in die bladsye
verloor
voorwaar
dis een van die beste boeke
wat ek in Afrikaans
gelees het
She,
is sitting
there
Smoke
whisping
angrily
through
the air
her cigarette
puffing
away
in an opium
sway
I
can smell
from
my balcony
her hair
a frizzy
rain induced
affair
and I
wonder
which
blunder
she’s
regretting
now?
I lower
the binoculars
I could see
her
there
on the balcony
smoking
sipping
a wine
or is it a whisky?
covered
in a fluffy
royal blue
gown
and
the peek
of
a green lace
hugging
her breast
and I wonder
did she
want me to
see it?
I lowered the binoculars.
She
has drawn
the curtains
early
I can see her
undress
I assume
watching
the mirror
her shape
a silhouette
still good
but age
taking
it’s toll
she slides
on the night slip
How
I wish
I can hear
the swish
on her skin
She turns
off
the bed light
I lower
the binoculars
I saw her
standing there
wind blown
hair
what a messy
affair
she was waiting
at the station
for the train
that never
came
it started
to rain
as always
on the fairy-light
plain
she shivers
her lip
quivers
I wish
it was me
she’s
waiting for
#shortstory
Playing
with her cigarette
the smoke and steam
collide
swirling
ghosts
in the morning sun
How I wish
I can read
her hazel eyes
