Poem: It's Hot in Morocco

It's hot in Morocco
The villages balance crookedly on the rocky hillsides — 
like grubby shoeboxes atop a ramshackle cupboard. 

A dusty road shuffles vaguely into the centre: 
a jangle of alleyways brimming with dirty walls 
and smells and objects and animals and people. 

People standing; 
people staring; 
people chewing absentmindedly on nothing in particular. 

And brittle houses that seem to sigh and heave in the heat, 
having randomly shed a few bricks that now lie listlessly, 
motionless amid the piles of rubble at their feet.

Friday, June 21, 2019