When an Honest Man
Makes a Dishonest Living
Peter, I can see it now,
the Bedouin tent
in the high cold desert
of North Africa
smoking your wares
under midnight stars
amidst a sea of sheep,
bringing back the goods
(don’t ask me how)
and the gear you described
to the amused satisfaction
of Customs Officials as:
“native arts and handicrafts.”
I’ll ever forget that line
or the way we did business,
our word our bond,
with interest.
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