Ben Dekker’s Place
There is a deck-like bench
Level as the night ocean grey horizon
Gaps between the palm-damp platform planks
Providing the parallel breakers
A line for alignment
Consistantly wide whitewater ripples
Catching streetlight from the right
Illuminating the night like a hidden fire
On second beach
There is electricity here
Not the two paraffin lamps
Or candle burning in the driftwood corrogated iron
Guest dwelling
Securely situated on steep slope
With door and window view of silhouetted
Edge promontory of Pondoland
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Dropping down into the sea
Nor distant lightning striking horizontal on the
Night grey cloud horizon
Rather the crackling humming night sounds
Above and behind
Framing prime primal portion
Of port st john’s sea view
Stretching to expansive sky
Thrusting canopy of coastal palms
Leaves thick as the sinew
Of the bench-builders hands
Bay for diving
The first Afrotherian
Plant and animal reserve
On earth
No dogs, cats, cows, or uniformed policemen allowed
Ben Dekker’s place.
