Sunday Afternoon
What do you do? Fine - I'll mention other things,
In Jo"burg, the expats were bored - went to
a roundabout and drove around, disgraceful,
don't you play any sport? Not even couch-rugby?
I used to race go-karts, play tennis, chase
the girls, even in winter, oddly in autumn;
I'm a chess player, bunch of nerds, no wonder
sometimes I'm a man of few words, expletives.
And now - I travel, write homily on Koh Samui beach,
with vacant-eyed Nesbo just out of reach,
writing is a lonely job, like waiting to die,
you'll find out - no matter how far you may fly.
Nesbo had just committed another repetitive crime,
while I was still battling with endless rhyme.
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