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Conversation with April

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Conversation with April

(Ali Al Salem, Kuwait 2001)

Every morning we drive pass the wall riddled with holes,
where officers were lined against the stucco,
picked apart like bottles a boy stands
atop a fence: his pellets fracture the glass,

dirty rain drains from the jagged wounds,
and puddles into sandy scabs. Today we huddle
along the building's edge seeking shade. Our eyes breathe dirt,
cigarette smoke, and your ninety-weight smeared hands.

A half-buried trash bag flaps like a trout
trapped under a toddler's foot. A sand storm
blasts through deserted tin structures.
Our plastic water bottles skip along the pavement

like locust shells -their carcasses collect
along the fence lines. Every morning
we drive pass the wall riddled with holes:
those mouths that scream to the wind.