In Algiers I held a glass

that held a face's stare

In the glass the face that stared

stared back at me in fear.

 

We came upon slowing traffic.

Inside the ancient bus

the standing passengers

were gently rocked as it edged

along the unfinished road.

 

We passed the sun-glassed occupants

of cars and busses

and the rolled-up sleeves of lorry drivers.

Tanned arms hung out of windows;

fingers tapping an unheard beat.

 

I stooped to stare at the dancing distance

of the baked highway.

The metalled road blazed.

 

People gripped passports

Identity papers, rosary- beads.

Their Letters of transit were not needed;

the border did what most borders do-

it shrugged us through.

Smiles become all languages.

 

Later I sat staring

out the window of a bar

hardly blinking-

A bus stopped

and people got off.

A dog scratched.

The sky was blue and cloudless.

 

I lifted a cold drink.

Watching.

Then Jez turned to me and asked,

"Is this what it's like to be drunk?"

I smiled

as I slid my wine towards her...

 

words T Carroll

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