The Road To Ksar Ghilane Poem by Chai Jones

The road to Ksar Ghilane has a left-hand turn

we pulled in, the driver gouging out
the deep red sand creating a confeti
of the softened desert
‘a drink, you like'
the silence of the heat

a low stone building
creates a little shade and room
for four chairs to sit
I fumble with my traveller's nerves
for the universal currency and lighter

movement in the burnt silence comes
stooping through a low door
a razor blade of a man
In black with Berber blue eyes
speaks in beautiful gutteral Arabic
and we sit as he turns and returns
the tiny cups
the smell of mint
the sugar in a pewter pot
we three, sit
I smile and pass the cigarettes
I light them up in mock celebration
and we all laugh
blowing smoke up to the wooden shade.