My Back Porch Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

looked out on the Atlantic Ocean.
Late summer afternoons it was shaded
by the Hassan Tower.

Under the trellis of the colonnaded terrace
I used to hopscotch on the geometric
blue patterned veranda tiles only to be

interrupted by the maid serving lemonade.
These were the grand old days
of colonialism of yesteryear.

Three quarters of a century later, sitting
across the world on probably a last
back porch my vertebrae make me ache

for those ancient gilded serpent days.