Well, I've been in Iran 5 days now and have hardly left the house. Throwing up all night is not fun, ever. Anyways, I saw a teddybear of a doctor today who gave me a nice bag-full of medicine so all should be well soon.
In my groggy state I have tried to write a few things and the latest is the VERY ROUGH first two sections of my POP sequence poem. Needs a lot of work but thought I'd blog it all the same.
slicked back hair and mascara-laden eyes,
navy blue uniform, orange-on-black striped
neck ties; manequins working shifts of simulated daylight,
gossiping behind clockfaces and weighing scales,
fingers souldered to keyboards that click high-speed
and create a percussive music: a pedal note
underlying the chatter of imaptient
snakes of human heads, bobbing forwards at
snail's pace towards conveyor belts giving birth
to bags and coats and mobile phones,
ejecting them into the florecent lights of duty free.
the last length of the labyrinth: we skim the road to
gate 29. the ground moves beneath our feet,
propelling us toward the neon doorway,
where gloved hands will usher us into our economy seats.
groggy, we emerge from our shared cacoon
and breathe in the stale exhaust fumes that hang
like parched drapes in the Teharn city air.
(a headscarf takes getting used to, adjusting it
to cover hair from roaming male eyes and to cover
mouth from the powdery residue of the fumes.)
rows of yawning faces obey the invisible barriers of passport inspection,
hanging like heavy beads upon the official's thread, willing
him to reel them in and bless their visitation.
sweat pours beneath heavy winter coats: we expected snow
and were greeted by springtime weather. everyone here
for rain to come and wash the air clean, wash
the streets clean, wash the country clean.
a bearded man behind a glass screen preys
upon our faces with his cold eyes, mumbles, stamps
my passport and dismisses us with a wave of his hand
as if he were a king or prince (soldier on a power trip).