Ahmad drives me from Old Medina
back to the hotel in downtown Casa;
On his dashboard he has a pile
of assorted silver and gold coins
like a dragon’s hoard.
He picks out more than a dozen
Canadian loonies and toonies,
and asks if I will change them for him –
No one accepts CAD,
and the changers will not take coins.
All I have left is a twenty and a fifty Dirham note;
hardly enough, but he insists I take the whole lot.
Sitting against the hot leather seat,
with this worthless handful of
curious gold and silver trinkets,
it suddenly dawns on me
how far I am from home.
Day 7 – a poem about money. A short piece of prose poetry adapted from an old travel log.