Wolt bikes on their way with pick-up
To homes with weed and rolled cigarettes.
Girls in tight clothes with tossed hair
Men with think black beards
And unshaven faces.
It is sounds of a ball
Hitting mattock paddles on the beach
And surfers riding waves in Jaffa
To the sound of the call to prayer.
It is mangal and shisha on the beach
Of Arab family picnic.
A scandalous gay pride parade
Of men in tiny speedo
And scandalous everyday
fat Russian men
In same exact speedo.
It is women who feign apathy
As men cannot a single one go by
Without whistle or an invitation.
It is dogs barking at each other on a leash
From opposite sides of the street.
It is cats colliding on their midnight feeder
And lazily looking at you
From a roof car or a scooter seat.
It is couples sharing electric scooters
Riding breakneck through the city.
It is chased down by e-bikes
On a bus, packed, and rattled
By cracked and damaged streets.
It is couples on the beach
And men and women in bars locking lips
After having barely met.
It is tank tops and backless shirts
Running shoes, Blundstones and Havaiana’s
It is winter vacation ski trip in the alps
And summer trips to Greece.
It is Goldstar beer
Pizza, malabi, humus and sabich.
A midnight shawarma or hot dog.
It is expensive hetzi and free chasers.
It is war all around
That no one seems to feel,
But always talks about.
It is quiet German tourists
And American and French
Competing for who can be most loud.
It is colored hair, bald heads
And fanny packs across the chest.
It is soldiers in tight-fitting pants and sandals
It is hot summer days with rain
Pouring from air conditioners.
It is the scented mix of rolled cigarettes
Weed, human piss and dog shit
And trash ripped open by street cats.
It is grey hooded crows
chasing yellow eyed mynas.
And fruit bats gliding through the midnight air.
It is the expansive beach
And hundred year old buildings;
Some restored, some crumbling,
Permeated by skyscrapers and developments.
It is high tech playboys, tattooed waiters and musicians.
It is black boys and girls on buses
With their backs straight and heads held high.
It is pierced noses and weekly protests.
It is the sound of all-night Purim street parties
The silence of yom kipur
And the stillness of yom itzkor.
It is impatient men
And sweet older women.
It is children without limits
It is “rega nag” of old men who chase buses.
It is motorcycles and Jaffa drivers,
Driving at breakneck speed
It is a fearless army nation
In eternal fear of every person
In a scarf.