between Ethiopia and Senegal

it was election day

in the desert,

between Ethiopia 

and Senegal

when all the bedouins

came 

to give their tribal call,

looking for the wailing wall

under stormy skies with a chill in the air 

and a bout of heavy rains.

i saw crowds of wandering people

and all that remains

of their private wishing well

and what they brought,

hoping to barter or to sell,

and a public place for women to gather,

to laugh and cry,

but what could i really see

when i turned my blind eye?

the sad men, they gambled and all their cards

came up short;

they took their petty grievances

to a higher court.

and i heard the angels preparing a nighttime meal

while cooking up thin excuses

for everything they could steal!

they put their food into a heavy pot

which heated to a quick boil.

they chose to be the first to eat

before anything had a chance to spoil.

i watched their smoking fires

and heard nervous voices 

speaking about roaming free,

riding rapids down the wild Zambezi,

looking for a safe place to pull ashore

devoid of discord and hungry carnivore.

i was hanging by the seat of my pants,

but couldn't shake the trance

of being inside a big circus tent and feeling strange,

wishing i could make amends and rearrange

the nomad  into a well-wisher 

and a passionate lip kisser.

in the small world with big butchers and their raw beef,

i found myself trapped inside a colosseum with a marauding thief

who drew his sword and challenged my belief,

but much to my relief

it was a passing dream and i awoke renewed

near a hilltop village painted with strokes of simple solitude,

wondering if everything i felt was nothing more than prelude

between Ethiopia and Senegal.