Under the Harmattan Sky - Rob Taylor

Dust blows in from the Sahara,
blanketing the town.
We can hardly see each other
so we take no photos,
write no poems.

Under the Harmattan sky
we barely notice the fishing boats
lined with thin men whose
thick fingers haul the seabed
up and onto the deck
to rummage and pry,
turn over in calloused hands,
save the best parts for the market,
send the rest drifting back
down into the sea.

Photo © 2009 Marta Taylor
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