ANOTHER DAY PATROL
The sun is sharp enough to cut right through
my neck. It makes the paved road white, the wind-
shields white, the river where I see it wind
behind the date palm trunks, that is white too.
The cars that dutifully idle while
we patrol on by, their engines clatter or
is that the heat? The heat that is the door
through which we endlessly walk single file.
The tribesmen welcome us into their home,
a breezeblock compound where there is a sheep
that has been butchered, boiled, served in a heap
of rice and apricots and moistened bones.
And afterwards the sheikh insists on tea.
He smokes and says, ‘I hope you never leave.’
- Date January 14, 2016
- Tags ANOTHER DAY PATROL