…in the white dress gets up
moving quickly to take up the coffee pot
and to let the old man take his place
in the middle
from where he can see his brothers.
and from where his hawks can see him.
and it is a bigger dish tonight
for it is eight to eat from it:
these seven from beyond Ar Riyadh;
from small places in the big yellow;
all of them happy to be sharing the same shadow
and their guest,
who knows G-Shock™ watches and Gordon’s gin™,
suddenly at a loss,
having suddenly found something better:
having found iftar after a long day
having found what fingers are for.
so i will not listen to lectures on etiquette
or on how to entertain:
“for when you eat with us you are in our care”
and unbleached flour is not a facial scrub
and beetles are not thrown in the fire by men
(for only One can commit a creature to a flame).
as the cooling sun goes down see,
it is one third now of Ramadan
see, how the moon gets fatter!
but not like us.
for we are fat enough…