Cairo 2000


The guy in the Papyrus Museum
thought I was Steffi Graf,
I don't think you gave a shit,
you were busy, ineffectually haggling,
the lady kissed my hand.
Later in the apartment,
with other expats, I traded
silly secrets and we chased
children into beds, while outside
the clock was ticking.

We did the thing, the thing you do,
you take the children to museums,
on trips on the Nile,
we swore we saw a crocadile
amidst the mud habitats
and rubbish just floating
warding off sellers who
tried to sell Nile water
in evian bottles.

We sat on camels,
visited the sphinx and the pyramids
went to the Valley of Kings,
I sang in the Cairo Opera House,
went to the Papyrus Museum again,
learnt how to make Papyrus,
they still thought I was
Steffi Graf, perhaps it was my
tennis elbow, and the sadness
that reflected in my serve?

I won't go back to Cairo,
I preferred Alexandria,
three hours on a road
three minutes to know its over.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 478 times
Written on 2013-06-02 at 19:03

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nice work ... you brought me along:)
2013-06-03


countryfog
I've been to five of the continents but to my eternal regret missed Africa and especially Egypt. As always, your attention to details makes even a place I've not been make me feel as though I have. Even Steffi was once a fantasy of mine. I'm always intrigued by how writers end their poems, so often they just kind of trail off into some banality or unreconciled conflict . . . this ends, it seems to me after reading it several times, in the only way it could have and be true to all that lead up to it, especially "the sadness / that reflected in my serve."
2013-06-02


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Ah the road to Alexandria. Where doth the quiet glory
of some greatness await.
2013-06-02