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.

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