Ptown Plekke, Jozi Jols

There is a stink of Kurt Darren outside Loftus’ beloved walls. The sizzling boerewors en tjops. Lynwood Road traps four schools in proud blazers as the purple pavements stand proud and steady.  O, Liefling! Union.

There is a lady that wears a leopard. Proud, too. Her eyes hidden behind Italian shades. A pendulum that sways with the equal distribution of boutique bags. Reptiles that hold Madibas in their bottomless jaws. Bottomless mocha-frotho-latte contraptions.

 Skinny jeans between okes with sharp khaki. Manicured politician gardens and Jaguars that dodge fevered taxis with the hoot-hoot ego that comes with the ‘GP’ design. A slow grapple on tar towards the neighbours forty clicks away. A promise of the N1 chaos and turnoffs that host skeletal boys who point to their mouths with promising eyes. A minute away, Waterkloof’s gates hold their heads high.


Houghton – said with an accent that needs practice.
Sandton –said with an accent that needs a stiff upper lip.
There is choreography of models that sweat.
If your pecks ain’t big enough, get out bru.

If you don’t play rugby, get out.
There’s an art class for you.
If you don’t sokkie, if you don’t braai
Then the Capital will skop you out
School bag over the shoulders, barefoot break-time

And the Rolex is pulled back, glanced over
The train silent in its approach
The business deals between business deals
and the media that cracks the stories
of Africa’s mighty Big Apple
the high-rise secrets
Big City Life


As jy mooi luister, kan jy dit hoor
Hatfield se studente wat stumble
soos masjiene wat drink nodig het
Oiling of the cog
Arcade se rockers
Presley’s se Jackie Louw

Monster hats
and the zooted rims
that need a little shine
The South rises
and there is hurry of fists
dancing to the rhythm of summer



Black and lights.

The man who sells pink covers,

a fake snake

The Star’s flashy headlines

The Sun’s gripping story

A tokoloshe stole my wife!

The posters of ‘buy this!’ and a horrible life


Up here, the air is rampant with coal

Cars choking
People sweeping

Druggies coughing

Heiresses laughing

The towers touch the tarnished heavens

The champagne in fenced-off castles

The glitz of Mercs

The taxi, the passing taxi, the falling apart taxi

Those ANC shirts

The march on, marching on to


The statues that tell another story



Time that is not now

Here, time is nothing


The cash gushes in floods

Legalised stock, foreigner counterfeits

The pidgeons fat

The beggar thin

The land of milk, honey and sin

The stay-at-home something with the Gucci

The Chinas with their gelled up hair, their unbridled youth

The taverns late at night

brewed in foam and someone hitting you



Across the face

As if you feel anything


Be cold


The hoot, the scoot, the metro loot

Bra, can I get away with a fifty?

The hens in bakkies

The pimp with the wheels

The lipstick in the corner

Get your wife some roses


The downside cafes

Filled with people who don’t need glasses

The seamless coffee, the rock that blares

The hip hop flair

The promise of savouring


Until your heart caves in


Sky-scraping hopes

Bright-lit dreams


Diamonds everywhere

Urban refinement

Afrika se Groot appel

Ferris-wheel charm

Wear my tux


The abandoned heaps

Of sand

The abandoned ideas

Of hope

The hi-jack

Guns up

The idea that we’ll never elope

Tin roofs hit by sunset rays
Cardboard signs that says


You’re sweet, Jozi

You sell yourself

On Bree Street’s buzz

You make promises

Give yourself

And leave

Oh Cindarella





A smash of the glass

The boon of the lake

The trivial parks that greet autumn

The prawns

The little children pointing at the giraffe

Suburbs change to suburbs and back


We come back

The late nights

The drag on the dance floor

5c pieces fall into the man

Fall out of hungry heads

The shine

The gleam


It hurts my eyes

It warms my heart