MOROCCO


Terrifa/Tanger.


 Really windy.

 Happy faces disembark.
 Happy to be in Spain or be of the boat!

 We're on, we're off.

 Pregnant, purring, petted, pussies,
 sitting in bowls, on chairs, in windows, waiting.

 The chicken shop.
 Worse the chicken plucking machine!

 The fly market.

 Broken backed peasant women,
 labouring up the street.
 The only things you will ever see
 are your own trudging feet.

 Strong backed peasant women on double seating,
 ten whole chickens and cous cous eating.

 Sometimes they get quite distraught if,
  there treasures you have not bought.
 Sometimes they get quite offensive if,
 you say "oh that's exspensive".
 Sometimes it's just best to say,
 "oh how lovely", and walk away.

 Because the guardia was inebreated,
 we sat all morning and just waited.
 He sleeps behind the door,
 with only cardboard on the floor.

 Long backed lean lads.

 Went into the medina.
 Got out three years later.

 Lines of men praying on mats.
 The ones who have been to Mecca are
 wearing white hats.

 On every little patch of land,
 they tend their crops with ancient hand.

 Through the Sahara sands, with camels too,
 guarded by young men turbaned in blue.

 Into the red earthed Daades deep where,
 up the mountains phallus sweep.

 To the great Oasis of Qued Draa.
 For every date palm tree thats grown,
 lies the remains of human bone,
 marked by a single standing stone.

 Through the western Sahara sand , rent barren by
 mans own hand.
 Past a solitary Berber tent
 and two camels 'whose lives were spent'.

Of all the side shows taking place in the grand plaza,
 for me, the best was the performing hat.
 There in the midst of the crowd was an old man with
 a hat on the floor.
 Out popped three pigeons, they milled around and
 drank some milk from a bottle top.
 Then out popped a guinie pig.
 It ran hither and tither but never very far from the hat.
 Then the old man reached into the hat and
 produced another hat.
 He placed it on the ground and it started to rush around
 in all directions. After sometime the hat found the milk
 and appeared to drink it.
 Then  the old man lifted the hat and there underneath
 was a 'hedgehog!.

 On silent padded feet two hundred camels passed  along.
 Grunting, munching and farting a desert song.

 Little girl on the steet,
 bitting splinters from your feet.
 Whatever do you get to eat?
 Is that where you have to sleep?

 Bleat little kid bleat.
 Tonight you are meat.
 Little kid in a basket don't you know
 what goes on at market!
 Displayed upon the  counter
with your eyes boiled white.
 I just passed you by and
 you gave me a fright.

 A hundred thousand graves,
surround the walls of Fes.
 Each one marked with stones of white
 to commemorate the dead.

 l heard a squak,
 then a chop.
 l just walked past the chichen shop.
 They ripped the feathers from your skin.
 The one God put you in.
They used that nasty plucking machine.
 Then sold you for tonights targine.

 l felt sorry for the chicks who fell of that lorry.
 They were ever so plump and just went plop.
 The lorry kept going and did not stop.
 All along the road they were.
 Little clumps of yellow fur.

If l had understood what he was saying,
l might have said " no "

 What struck me most about beautifull, stunning, milk
 and honey Morroco were the 'rocks'!