Y Arabic Market Poem by stewart green

As in Arabic market space
Daily I barter and trade for my sanity
Six grams of wild cumin seed
Demand rate for an hour’s peace

Exotic sunken eyes as corrupt scales
Depleting my trading advantage
Deep into my tunic I slip my gnarled hand
From the depths of my pocket or my soul
I produce my last measure of Pimentos
Surely it will suffice trade today?

Unpredictability of daily haggling
What if my pockets have verily run dry?

Surely then my creditor will demand
My body stripped and stripped
Shackled marching in stocks
A copper coin for my life
New master new whip

She will spit on my face
Examine my teeth
Rape me with her baton
Bludgeon me until I scream
Humiliate me at the foot of the temple

I must flee this market place
Before that happens.
Only, I am addicted now
The daily negotiations
For the shads of my gasping soul.