Kids

Kids

This is a poem inspired by Cairo, engaging themes such as inevitable loss of innocence in difficult circumstances.

The children sat
together
cigarettes in palms
like Christmas trees on fire.
Tassles of smoke
twirl like thoughts.

When had they
lost the last ashes
until all that remained
was sinew and paper
and a hole in the shape of Mickey Mouse.

You can smoke anything
he offered, always accepted.

Come closer mother,
so I can brush your hair.
Sing to my cigarette
until it flakes and siphons off
into a naked ember
slit-eyed and angry.

Chew on my filter
until it turns to cud
and I can’t breathe anymore.
Make sleep easy
easiest when the sun is out
rusting my white flesh
folding it up like an ironed
t-shirt.

I will not hold your hand
because it is softer than mine.
Your arms are salty brittle
they cannot protect me from
my blazing shield of blood.

The lights flicker, pensive
and I lay, face-down
in the jungle of ashes,
dust and water.

I throw my last cigarette
into the ocean.
It spits and growls
at all I have left.

Help me
scrape the sand
from the fingernails
of the old man selling kebab
sprinkle it in my gin.