Beneath The Moroccan Sun Poem by Terry Collett

The Moroccan sun was hot
and the sands
of the beach
down from the base camp

were warm
beneath your feet
as Mamie and you
took a walk

looking seaward
then skyward
the sounds
from the base camp

becoming faded
background buzz
and she said
those toilets are a disgrace

two bricks
over a hole
in the ground
and after a few drinks

one stands there
swaying fearing
to fall in
yes not quite up

to the 5 star hotel standard
you said
but this is a camping trip
across half of Europe

and beyond
not some top notch
holiday in the swanky
middle class arena

but still
she moaned
trying to balance
on two bricks

is no mean trick
you sensed her hand
hold yours
her skin warm

sticking to your skin
her fingers moving
between yours
and you recalled

the night just gone
while the guy
you shared the tent with
had gone on a trip

to Fez
you and she
kissed and embraced
and did the business

while outside
you could hear
the voices
of others

as they passed by
or music played on guitars
from the guys
in the bar

up a small way
as you both lay
on your backs
staring at the blue top

of the tent
the heat of the sun
pushed through
and the bodies wet

with sweat
and she put
a hand on your belly
and rubbed

in a circular motion
as far away
you heard
the sway

and run
of the Mediterranean sea
and nearby voices
and their laughter

and gossip
as you and she
kissed
lip to hot lip.