On the way in it’s no problem,
The bus goes straight through.
A short hot walk from the station to the centre of town.
The city is busy,
people engaged in whatever it is their doing,
And we walk, looking for nothing in particular.
In the afternoon we head back,
But can’t find the bus station.
We ask the man in the shiny reception of the ‘Palestine National Bank’
He doesn’t speak English but we understand, the buses have stopped.
We hail a shared taxi and a boy, about eight, translates for us,
The way out is different.
We queue in metal cages, cows being lead to the abattoir.
It's slow today because it's Saturday and they can’t use the computer.
On the other side of the filter,
two cows having escaped slaughter,
We see Peter. He too had been to Ramallah today.
He gets on the same bus,
Informs us that he’s going to a rave in the desert.
Comments about this poem (Shabbat by Kjartan Sidney Khaldun )
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