This city is my mirror,
the cool air that blows in off the ocean:
It is uncomfortable, the noise
the motorbikes the shouts on the street
Jarring with my learnt aesthetic
I withdraw into quiescence
short occasional poems jagged
Syntax like a 125cc
rushing past down below afternoon
Something phatic for the boys
There is no African heat
lazy city August relaxing
But my caffeine buzz
neighbours somewhere drumming the release
Of my broken verse