Scratchy Leathers.

Things we can wear at home;

“I’ll tell you what to wear!”

She said:

My dread.

Déjà vu in French – Morocco.

Did you know we travelled on the Marrakech Express?

Slowly – lentement Pierre;

Cramped corridor reality.

“Don’t go to the cludgy on here!”

Slowly – lentement.

Driving south – just a little thing from Jimi;

Youthful enthusiasm

Big Lad and Kevin

What an act

How much?

4 and 20

69 and 11

We were still riding.

Later that same day

Limping like a soggy biscuit,

I entered the ladies chamber.

“What do you want?”

What I always want;

Love –

And affection

And a mighty blast of Joy.

You can have all of my love

(The wheels were going round)

And my affection

(She sat alone in the compartment)

The joy left me

(Stuck in the juddering corridor)

I watched as the sun set on some forsaken desert landscape;

“Casablanca!” she said.

“Sacre bleu! Zoot Alors!

Ooh la la!”

They saw me from miles away, glowing pink from my wallet;

“Mister!”

“Teacher!”

“Give me money!”

“Give me passport!”

“Give me love and affection!”

The wheels went by places with names I can’t recall,

Resort stops in my life;

Benny, Siddy, Soukh.

We walked through Doha hand in hand;

It was a mistake – “I wouldn’t say that again Sir,

Not in this country.”

The wheels kept turning, my heart still yearning.

She asked what I was earning,

So I just grinned; gurning.

Ugly Bob is in the same boat,

Though we are on the railway,

Wheels going round and round;

Have you been here before?

“Of course it isn’t sorted yet!”

“I want to catch you in my net!”

And here she comes with diamond handcuffs;

“Your next sentence could be your last!”

I avoided the balcony today,

So the mosquitoes (bless their little pointy heads)

Were forced on hunger strike as I decided

My blood is just for me.

Shopping in Magazines;

“Don’t go on your own,

You have to be with me,

Or you will make a mistake!”

Trust forms most of mistrust, so I will go alone;

Again.

To the heart of my soul.

“Are you always chasing our souls?” she asked.

She left me then

Limping like a biscuit

Through the streets of Marrakech

Clacker clacker clacker

Too much beer at the VIP bar none.

The she was shocked by my expletives,

“It must be a real pain,” she said through a mouthful of bread.

“You’ll never get to heaven if you tell me mother words.”

“Do you like my bird?”

I decided to stay at home again;

Travel is good for the soul, she said.

“Travel is good for our souls!” I laughed.

She didn’t understand – lentement Pierre!

The wheels continued round

The sun went down

(we don’t like it round here)

The mozzies dined well that evening.