April 01, 2010

Poem from the North of France

“We’ll be there any day now”

We say, sitting in the dust of cars past,

With home made signs,

With our best pathetic-shy-but-friendly faces.

A car slows down.

Coasts pasts. He reads our signs.

Gives us either:

A kind look, that is also an apology.

A glance that suggests that we are idiots, because we are.

A supportive (in the metaphysical sense) wave.

A buse.

Not long to wait anyhow.

We’ll be in Morocco any day now.


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