Saturday, November 27, 2010


The bright desert sun shines down on the tram,
overlooking clay biniya that sit between-
grassy mountains and the sea, cradled like a new-born.
The Mediterranean crashes
against large, rounded boulders like the stomachs of customers
bloated with shawarma and cous cous.

Cars speed through red lights
cruising around al-humra- 
malls, jewelry and clothing stores
 of impenetrable glass.

The other buildings hide in bombed-out clay
and broken stone like the Wailing Wall.
A twelve-year-old janitor
mops up endless sand from the marble floor-
as I grab my hose and puff on arguilay,
wrapping my mouth around smoke rings-
just to prove I can.