One night in Djibouti—
Calm like liquid
The stale and rippling sewage, filling the disparity in the dirt roads.
Glowing like heat
The throbbing humidity of a December night.
Evanescent like the sky
Softly peeling, layer upon layer, consuming the world in its transition.

I went running in Djibouti,
As the sky settled and the people thrived.
Broad avenues, heaps of debris lying listlessly about,
Oh, I haven’t run in a long time.
The soft groan of returning goats after a long day’s eating trash,
My muscles are aching.
The screaming of cars on the right on the left—
Pale, bitter honk,
Attention aux voitures!
The languid, fierce, and weary march to homes,
to the market, in alleys,
through dust and debris.

(fierce mutterings in Somali)
Mocking “Bonjour”
Rough, cold, angry jargon
Bitter feeling, harsh thoughts,
Oppression, poverty, thrown rocks
Skittering past my feet as I walk

Buying khat, selling khat—
The narrow, rough wooden boxes lining the sidewalks
scattered amidst dust and trash.
Slender, colorful women, walking, wandering, nightly routine
Back to sharp, crumbling fortresses,
trash and sewage-mud, crude shelterless shelters.
The Somali—
Men scattered up on the dust mounds
Dry and weak, sitting out the evening. “Bonsoir” (sincere)
“Goodbye!” (cheery)
Their wives and children back in the alleys,
alone, sick, and aching, mingled in the sewage-puddles.
Dark, dark Djiboutian nights
Calm, like the steady beat of hunger that plagues the body.
Glowing like the passion of the human soul.
Evanescent: the causes, the answers, the understanding.
Persistent, all-consuming, unavoidable, sickening.
I went running in Djibouti.