In 1999, I spent almost a month in Quazazat, Morocco, working on a movie called Rules Of Engagement.
I wrote these two poems reflecting some of my experiences there.
Walking in Morocco
Walking from the disco
to the Berber Hotel
two American women alone
in the middle of a
deserted desert street
without escort
more than a little tipsy
from warm beer
the air is heavy with
heat and social oppression
even in the still night air.
From a sleepy concrete
apartment complex
a group of wild dogs
trickle, then flow
one girl wants to flee
but silently the other stops her
with gentle pressure on her arm
they stand, shoulder
to shoulder, trembling
suddenly sober
the dogs are wiry
and husky, mutts and
shepards, following their leader
past the girls’ hotel,
fifty strong.
As the final dog rushes past
them, he pauses, sniffs
the air, then moves on,
destination unknown.
Working in Morocco
our office is small
and crammed full of
foreign voices
French, Spanish, Italian
Arabic, English,
all speaking at once
Our assistant is named Ali
I call him Ali Baba but he
doesn’t understand
He speaks French and Arabic
I speak English and French
He has a crush on me,
leaves little gifts on my desk
we try to communicate
in broken French
unemployed men gather
across the street from our
dusty offices
they have learned my name
and when I go outside
they call to me
our security keeps them
at bay
but they always linger
in my head
a reminder of another dark
skinned man, who held
me too tightly, against my
will, stronger than I was
he said my name with the same
intensity and accent,
an implied intimacy
that wasn’t given but taken
