The Dead of Cairo and Poetry

Happy Friday! I hope you are having a good day. I can’t say the same for all the people of Cairo. If you haven’t heard, there are violent clashes right now between the military and the muslim brotherhood. I can’t do the situation justice here, but check out NPR for great coverage. Listening to NPR last night inspired this poem for the dead.

This poem is specially formatted. For best visuals, please read on a full size screen (aka get off your smart phone!)

Warning: Deals with death. While not graphic, it may be triggering for some. 

Sweet Trash

Death smells sickly sweet,

democratically for all.

the same perfume for humans,

     for fruit,

          for meat,

               and the wide eyed fish.

No air freshener will hide it,

        no perfume will overpower it.

                                                                         Death lingers in all air.

Do the garbage men of Cairo

         remember work as they smell

the dead?

         Do their hands feel dirty

not from flesh

         but yesterday’s trash?

Who will remember these faces?

Not their li

ng

er

ing

smell

but their lives: once full of

sweat and sugar,

blood and tobacco?

Or, will these memories

be forgotten,

faded       mental

trash?

Thanks for reading and I hope you have a fantastic weekend!

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