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.
Not long to wait anyhow.
We’ll be in Morocco any day now.