An Oriental
Tapestry
Who
Are You Damascus?
Your five-star hotels,
and few good swimming pools.
Your improvised discotheques,
and lullabies l o s t in
the heavy sound of
traffic.
Your old and
new
r
u
i
n
s.
Your invisible walls,
and all too visible sects.
Your potholes,
and run-down coffeehouses.
Your fashionable soap-operas,
and dying theaters.
Your population explosion,
and inefficient hospitals.
Your ethnic minorities,
and shaky sovereignty.
Your emigrants returning
from
all
over
the
world.
Your cathouses,
and underground casinos.
Your ultra-rich,
and ultra-poor,
(both equally contemptible).
Your highway accidents,
and children
of corrupt government officials.
Your blackhole of a vulva
sucking
in
one
and
a
l
l:
Neanderthals,
Assyrians,
Greeks,
Romans,
Persians,
Arabs,
Turks,
English,
French,
and visiting Russian
advisors
and
prostitutes.
Can’t you ever say
“no,”
Damascus?
Can’t anyone ever learn how to
keep
you faith
ful?
Ever?
Where are you in all this,
Damascus?
The
Consummate
Victim?
Or
The
Consummate
Whore?
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