deepundergroundpoetry.com
One Foot in Tangiers
Come dusk
I pull on the grey djellaba
hood up, hiding fair hair and blue eyes
darting through narrow alleys
steamy drains buzzing with blood
the scream of chicken guts
and a dagger in every doorway
The smuggle, is cheap red wine,
green bottles bruising brown paper bags
clinking over cobbles, clumsily disguised
past the fat policeman at the harbour gates
where a joke about girls
and the taste of Marlboro
never fails to strike him blind
I eat with the fishermen, lounging on nets
fingers dipping bread in a giant pot
stalking sardines by moonlight
wrestling octopus when there were none
We laugh like brothers
and drink to the sea from a single glass
rim chipped blacker than the gutter's heart
On Christmas Eve I climbed to the English Church
a stray dog sniffing midnight mass
pores tingling with fishy wine
to find a handful of Europeans
goodwill stiffer than their pews
and every hymn scowling murder
until it smelt like God wasn't home
I pull on the grey djellaba
hood up, hiding fair hair and blue eyes
darting through narrow alleys
steamy drains buzzing with blood
the scream of chicken guts
and a dagger in every doorway
The smuggle, is cheap red wine,
green bottles bruising brown paper bags
clinking over cobbles, clumsily disguised
past the fat policeman at the harbour gates
where a joke about girls
and the taste of Marlboro
never fails to strike him blind
I eat with the fishermen, lounging on nets
fingers dipping bread in a giant pot
stalking sardines by moonlight
wrestling octopus when there were none
We laugh like brothers
and drink to the sea from a single glass
rim chipped blacker than the gutter's heart
On Christmas Eve I climbed to the English Church
a stray dog sniffing midnight mass
pores tingling with fishy wine
to find a handful of Europeans
goodwill stiffer than their pews
and every hymn scowling murder
until it smelt like God wasn't home
Published 8th Jul 2011
| Edited 13th Sep 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 3
comments 4
reads 1157
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
12th Jul 2011 10:21pm
...is less than this deserves. Great work here Abra, full of pictures and ideas. Love you when you are firing the big guns.
13th Jul 2011 00:16am
28th Jul 2011 12:10pm
and i do apologise. [:
i love the thick imagery, the carrying of the reader through the day and that empty ending line that feels so full because of the substance in the rest. it's like accent on the rest of the poem. i'm sure that was your intent, but it was highly effective. this is truly a stunner.
i love the thick imagery, the carrying of the reader through the day and that empty ending line that feels so full because of the substance in the rest. it's like accent on the rest of the poem. i'm sure that was your intent, but it was highly effective. this is truly a stunner.
28th Jul 2011 2:50pm
Apology not required (they don't suit you).
Rather than compromise the intensity of a poem I find it's always satisfying to quit when you're ahead. Getting out quick can be an elegant solution altho there are risks involved. Shorter lines in the last stanza may help to prepare the reader for the rapid exit here, but I'd be lying to you if I said this was anything other than a gut-write ~ A
Rather than compromise the intensity of a poem I find it's always satisfying to quit when you're ahead. Getting out quick can be an elegant solution altho there are risks involved. Shorter lines in the last stanza may help to prepare the reader for the rapid exit here, but I'd be lying to you if I said this was anything other than a gut-write ~ A
