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African Dust
Submitted by: Anna Marie Hopewell
 
Tired of all the African dust

That breezes in with the wind

Covering my books and papers

Choking me from within

Instantly ageing my European clothes

Making my body itch

An everyday nuisance un-foretold

Every space a home for it to settle-in

Thick and brown like human ashes

Finding no purpose or use

All over my luggage and inside of my shoes

A poignant memory of a time almost lost

A musky smell that evokes distrust

How quickly I grew tired

Of (all) the African dust.




Anna Marie Hopewell, December 2002

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