A low lazy fan struggles through
thick humid air; the blades ache with
unbalanced rotation.
Large dark inviting leather chairs back
up to marble pillars in the lobby.
They wait like flytraps for listless
visitors, absorbing skeletal souls
into bottomless comfort.
Outside equatorial winds briskly rustle
about leaves, ladies hats and satin scarfs.
Kenya is full of life. Its song is unending,
drawing the curious in. The blood of
generations lives in the dust.
Roger Singer 