A Stroll At Sea Point Poem by Gert Strydom

I walk right into
the wind that blows softly,
for a meeting
with the dark blue ocean
that stretches out far
under the bright blue sky
and suddenly I know
that Sea Point had been
a prosperous neighbourhood

but now there are numbers of old folk,
children hanging around like hippies
with liquor, cigarettes and drugs
and car guards catching my eye

while seagulls screeching
with impudence grab
flabby chips from a man’s hand
and like screaming helicopters
hang above him
and he angrily
also throws his piece of fish into the air
and saying: “take that too.”

The sea stays pretty dark blue
and when I walk along
I smell the salt,
I hear the thundering crunch
of waves without end
breaking and spraying
and it feels if here I am really living.