Dear Cape Town - Kerry Hammerton

I would like to give you a giraffe
like the one in the central park of Cuidad Juárez.
In that northern Mexican town
they treat their giraffe like a tourist.
I’d watch our giraffe amble along Buitengracht,
meander through Bo Kaap and District Six.
Volunteers would gently shoo her into the Groote Schuur Estate
where she would learn to gallop with the zebras and savour
pine needles. We would close the highways,
guarantee her safe passage – caught in the City’s gridlock
drivers sitting patiently, listening to her journey
on the radio. Cape Town would applaud
and ululate when she reached refuge.
It would feel like 1990 again when Madiba
gave his freedom speech at City Hall: cheering crowds, gees.
Or even 1994 when everyone queued
all day seared by the sun to vote for the first time.
We’d tell stories about the giraffe,
about her long legs galumphing on the slopes
of Table Mountain. Our evening news
would recount what she ate,
which visiting dignitaries took photographs
with her. We’d picnic next to her enclosure,
nod hello to all the people we don’t know,
swap recipes for koeksusters, bredie, umngqusho.
Each time we drove or walked or bussed into town
we’d twist our necks to catch a glimpse of our very own giraffe.
After a few months we’d forget to look, snarl in the traffic,
snarl everywhere. Go back to saying those and them;
abandon our picnics, use our own recipes.
Maybe I won’t give you a giraffe Cape Town, maybe I won’t.

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Kerry Hammerton (20th century) South Africa
Source: Poetry School