SHAKA FINALLY FINDS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE
in one of his mother’s fashion magazines.
Those eyes and that small chin, those cheekbones!
Calls her N, how should he describe her?
Like an evening stroll after a magical film
Like a drive in a dilapidated Beetle
between rocky mountains, he meanders along a glassy stream
and suddenly the sun breaks through
the sunlight breaks through the air, far below
is the valley where he will spend the night.
N! Like an abrupt taste that explodes in your mouth
heavy rain at the height of summer.
As addictive as a football game.
His biographer complains of hackneyed imagery never mind
as long as it works, Shaka thinks.
Who crushes so guilelessly but cannot dance.
Who keeps treading on his partner’s toes.
Has no idea how to offer a drink
how to kiss with your whole mouth.
As a young boy he was often teased about love.
‘Fat Babette is shagging Shaka’
and ‘Shaka = Nerd’ in giant letters
on the side wall of the corner shop.
Bitter, he ran home, hid himself away
in his bedroom and didn’t come out for days.
He concentrates on sharpening the point of his spear
and wonders whether N knows that he exists.
Whether in her dreams he rescues her from the flames
and whether she sprays a little perfume between her breasts
while looking at his photo, leaves the dinner to burn
disguises her imperfections with make-up
while humming ‘They can’t take that away from me’.
About four times a week and
crazy with longing he heads towards
the red-lit backstreets of the village.
He stays there until he hasn’t a cent left.
Long after midnight he’s still roaming the streets.
Living from minute to minute
on his way to more and still more life.