Promenading

There is the August heat to face,
when stepping out resembles
stepping in a slow roast,
sizzling searing
sand dust lies bone dry,
on parched land
and black robed,
faceless women
drift through
heavy heat,
to market stalls
of spice and silk,
magenta, turquoise, gold,
There are the palm trees,
languishing on stark white sand,
the green sea
and a poignant past
of pearls and simple life.

~Kathleen Dodd