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Antony Christie

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Night Out

so we thought we would sleep out,
under the walnut tree,
under the stars.
the cow had been milked,
brought back to her calf,
fed green hay and maize leaves,
the mules had had their barley bags,
were tethered on the slope next to the Café Toubkal,
the baby was quieter and would sleep now,
the last muezzin had sounded.
we watched the stars grow brighter,
the candles and oil lamps snuff out.

before midnight they decided to load the mules,
make a night journey -
light, voices, the stuffing and tying of panniers.
time stretched.
then came the first of the campers -
Saturday night and they were off to Lac d’Ifni,
loud young Arabic and French voices,
pop folk from a battery stereo,
an all night party.

like a lay-by on the M1 you said
as dawn broke greyly over the maize terraces,
as the stars faded.

 

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