Cairo
Barbara Streisand’s voice drifts
over the back seat of the cab
two o’clock in the morning,
my head is pressed against smooth glass
I stare at the night outside,
sapphire spilling over buildings
balconies dripping with shirts
and sheets drying
Beneath the laundry,
below the shadows of the sleeping,
cafés glow, tables strewn with coffee cups
and backgammon games,
old men smoke sheeshah
Cairo is a maze of streets
kissing the Nile
stretching half-asleep
tossing with restless dreams,
waiting for the sun to rise