Egypt

Before you read: this is not a hate poem to Egypt.  It is simply in the style of Allen Ginsberg's "America."  It came out of me on the tram today and I figured it was better uncensored.  It captures a moment, and is not meant to be a culmination of my experience here...

Egypt, you shove past me, racing me to a seat I did not intend to occupy

(I’d rather stand on my own two feet).

In your seven layers of mascara and seventeen shades of eye shadow

I see your eyes watching me, staring at me

with my pen in my mouth

and songs about wine in my ears

and I know you are judging me

Well, guess what Egypt?

This time, I am judging you!

 

Egypt, your leather sandals are torn. 

Were they made in China? 

Of plastic? 

Can you hold a match to them to prove they are real?

 

Egypt, there are rotten cabbages in your streets,

the smell of fish,

and flies endlessly carousing,

buzzzzzzzing around your head

as though it were a fly brothel!

And taxis who swarm your foreigners

like stinging yellow jackets

hoping they are lost

or rich

or stupid

or if you’re lucky, all of the above.

 

Egypt, there is phlegm in your lungs

and dirt in your water.

Your air is the dirtiest in the world!

When will you take a bath, Egypt?

When will you take off your clothes?

 

Egypt, your head is covered

and your sidewalks are filled with cracks

and stray cats

and shit

from dogs, because they are against your religion

and they’ve got no place else to go.

What did the dogs every do to you, Egypt?

Other than feed your fleas

(which is more than you’ve done for your people!)?

 

Egypt, there is God in your land and in your people

But you are the land of a thousand horns

and beeps and yells

and business weddings

head-splittingly loud jewelry

and false prayers

so God runs for cover

(or earplugs, at least).

How will He hear when you pray for real?