The Night Veld
Outside on a spread of lawn, behind the fishpond, dinner with Grandfather. Tender pepper thighs and a splash of water; a table of reminded wisdom. Pockets of cropped moonlight break like lamps on a wall. And then nature disappears, the last whispers in the night veld as the dogs’ snarl at snakes, tension and profanity,
Hyde Park
Children on scooters on hot concrete scootering. And bicycles with stabilisers squeak through a mass of mums and dads, eager to sit down before ice cream becomes a sludge. Black birds in regimental droves, with black beaks and shiny black tunics of feather wait for discarded crusts from toddlers in oversized hats and drooping nappies.
The Snuff Box
He dressed eccentrically at the most, with striped trousers and a top hat bowler. And a long coat and gaudy shirt. His eyeglasses would swing on a chain, and his cane would hang from a limp arm, almost like that famous painter. The good doctor, his old-fashioned kindness until the end, the liquor consuming him,