at the station into a sheik.
Surrounded by his wives
and eunuchs, he strolls in
his gardens.
Around the spouting fountains,
dolphins in the waves, lemon
orange and passion fruit enamour
the air with their sweet
scents.
The sheik in his babouche
sits on a stone bench,
launches his hand full
of seeds to the white
doves.
They clatter from the rooftops
down the tropical creeper
onto the dolphins and across
the lawns.
The train’s squeaking and sway
gently rocks my contemplation.
The slow wheels roll on the
rails at a snail pace.
So my sheik keeps me company
on my way across the map.
©susanbauryrouchard
from London to Stratford.