Delivery

I forgot the poem
I deleted the words
but I sat and felt the feeling again
the motion of night, roads, lives
passing images without utterance

Sometimes she likes to say 'Nothing can shock me now'
and she flicks her ash, purses her red lips
gives that intent look
and we nod and there is a moment of silence before we say we have to go

In the taxi the African driver plays some tune
and the poet in me holds the nostalgia for us both
but later he declares his love for the dirt of this city
and his eyes glitter in the headlights of the oncoming car

Meanwhile the only truth seems to be the pizza delivery
always on time, always the same guy
driving through the Cairo streets
past the election halls
and protests
yet still he brings it warm