Cape Town

7 March
I spend the first day
sitting, reading, and eating
bus ride to Cape Town

8 March
topless tours
shows us the city
in the sun

at the waterfront
our first Robben Island tour
is canceled, re-planned

Mama Africa
my meal served in a cauldron
with four kinds of meat

after our dinner
I go out to drink and dance –
leave early to sleep

9 March
morning at seven
we leave for Table Mountain
soon we are sweating

the boys move quickly
while Christa and I struggle
I feel like a wimp

arriving at the top
we write a postcard and ride
the cable car down



still smelling of sweat
we drink wine at a vineyard
then take a group tour

dinner: eight of us
in a restaurant at which
all diners aren’t white



10 March
it’s back on the bus
we disembark for hiking
and sun-burnt shoulders






at Cape to Cuba
“rugged revolutionaries”
serve us mojitos

we pass plates
trying each dinner
group effort

the last taste
lingers in my mouth:
cigar smoke






11 March
my concrete mixer
is making smoothies today
Mandela's revenge

I brought mousse
but forgot cipro
big mistake

our first rainy day
takes us to a museum
no Robben Island

all body parts ache
fever keeps me shivering
whether warm or cold

exhausted by noon
I’m back at Mountain Manor
sleep all afternoon

a sick day
unprecedented
in its scope

borrowed tylenol
and cipro bringing me back
speech is still slow, slurred



12 March
another bus day
cautiously drinking water
then juice, even bread

stopped on the highway
construction forces us to
take in the mountains





preceding each town
a settlement of bright shacks
laundry on the lines



included
in tonight’s braai packs:
ostrich meat

tomorrow
some have a chance to
ride the beast



13 March
Sally the Stripper:
she has been ostrich-married
for twenty-four years




at the Cango Caves
we shimmy through “the Post-box”
and “Tunnel of Love”

our slow-speaking guide
is patient with us and our
immaturity

back in the sunlight
we each listen to ourselves
tell the same story

my dinner with Jo:
bread, cheese, carrots, last night’s braai,
bottle of red wine



we finish eating
but we stay outside to talk
for one, two, three hours



14 March
bus back to PE:
on curving mountainside roads
we sideswipe a truck

on the drive
I have ample time
for haikus

last minute
I change my mind and
bungy jump