Syrian lighter

The Erotic Life

 

Should have wrote that thing down

instead of wreaking havoc about it

yet the other self says keep trying.

Once Haj Ibrahim drank the ashes

of his cigarette from his tea,

said it was good for us.

His wife came through the door

looking pale once again,

thoroughly his wife.

Oftentimes I saw them out front

pealing tobacco leaves one by one,

a group of sisters smiling.

One time the mule got loose

and I led him home by the rope,

took him apples in the afternoon.

Their children sat out on the roof

watched us through the window,

told the village how foreigners make love.

Done