He hawks as we pass;
she drops something
into the folds covering
his crossed legs. Hand rising
in salutation, his eyes
busy scrutinizing light
trying to squeeze through
the closing door.
I, aghast: but why?
She smiles -
he’d tell the world
I’m a whore and you,
my love, even worse
a naswangi- womaniser.
I’ve saved your Western
face - now get upstairs!
Our bewab: cleaner
of my Mozza’s purse
gate keeper,
moral arbiter,
since she started
staying over.
Her reputation assured
with Egyptian pounds.
© Michael Ray
Michael Ray is a glass artist living in West Cork Ireland. In 2011 he won the RTE John Murray National Poetry Competition. His work has appeared in The Moth, Asylum, The Independent and Cyphers.
