Fresh broccoli

I only went shopping for broccoli.
Then I saw her.
Beautifully boxed and packaged.
A face like an angel.
Clean cut.
“Joi is her name” read the advertising blurb.

“That will be R 2, 500” the checkout girl said.
I smiled as I handed over my credit card.
“Do you wish to tap or put it in?” said the checkout girl.
Looking her straight in the eye, I replied: “You decide”.

I made straight for the parking lot.
Started up my vehicle’s engine.
Joi sat next to me in the passenger seat,
Most comfortably in a plastic bag.

We listened to my favourite track,
On the Buddha Bar Volume 3 album,
Track 7 on CD 1.
Joi never heckled me or picked a fight.
She was comfortably silent all the way home.

I made myself some tea,
She sat on the counter.
The house was quiet.
I pottered around.
It was weekend.
No telephone calls.
Or at least calls I refused to answer.
I put my cell phone on silent.
Double locked the front door.

I removed Joi from the plastic bag,
Marvelled at her perfection.
She smiled back at me.
Her voice in the back of my head saying:
“Undress me, I am all yours.”

But I am a slow starter.

A faintly familiar voice then came from upstairs.
A woman’s voice:
“Where the hell have you been for the past two hours?”
“Did you get the broccoli – like I asked?”

Contributed by:
Barry Varkel, an attorney of the High Court of South Africa and Solicitor of the Supreme Court of England and Wales.
Author of Nigiri Law and Goy Vey (released last week)


  1. I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Broccoli Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.


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