Summer Town Needs

Jaco Fouche

An opera singer is indulging in pleasant screams
And lonely cries on the radio.
I listen with one ear
Idly recalling previous girlfriends,
(I like the kind generally referred to as old souls
They in turn, I hope, like the kind of youngish man you can smile about, later)
And vaguely resolving someday to pick up the basics of music
Beyond the loyal thump and the safely repetitive ooh of the tunes I usually listen to.
(I've read that the secret of pop music is the creation of the unmet need
That's the secret of youth, too, of course...)
I try to pay attention to the announcer's words
When he talks of arias, which are to be sung, and areas, which are to be from.

It is a windy sunny day,
The kind cricket commentators describe as "sort of blustery"
When there's a lull between boundary shots
And the high camera takes in the urban scene.

I can hear the game,
The crowd cheering in the lounge.
Did it go for six,
And roll across a roof?
Or was it a spectacular four
Whizzing by the fielder's hands?
You know when it's a dropped catch
By the expectant cheer and then the ooh of unmet needs.

Outside, away from the television and the radio
There are chuckles and voices and splashes.
I'm sure if you approach the vibracrete
You'll smell wood burning
And maybe pool chlorine and some coconut tanning oil.

In the afternoon I will sleep for an hour
(While the radio broadcasts subliminal cultural messages)
And wake up groggy and a bit uneasy
Wondering why I spend so much time
Being myself,
When I could be ooh say a sports announcer.

LitNet: 18 May 2005

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