By weldon goree
Date: 30 November 1997

Poolwatching

The sabre gripped in dirty sweat all grit
And ache, the grinning velvet scabbard hung
In gold and lazuli inlaid with pearl
and silver

I have seen you swim, and dreamed of noble sheikhs
And T. E. Lawrence in Beersheeba: palm 
trees, date trees, khaki uniforms, and off-
White turbans, robes and camels slipping sandwise
Beneath the sickle moon that harvests heat:
I stood, a saltwork pillar in the desert,
And wept for you, through eyes bled nearly dry

My rhymes all left me then and I was burnt,
Embarrassed, blushing by the pool with you;
A fencer in his denim whites all soaked
To skin with saline sweat, the sabre gripped
In a rotten leather glove inside gym
Where noble sheikhs are far away but we
Perhaps could make our own Scheherazade,
My dear?