A sonnet

 
 He had that elegant stride,
 trembling on the road under his coat,
 some shitting and pissing on the ride
 then he would put his chin above your cloth.
  
 In that eye there was the flat,
 so mighty, peaceful, never-ending
 When recalling that overwhelming heat
 with one ear up and the other pending.
  
 To you, some valley’s talk was strain
 and deaf an ear you had to pretend 
 Not having to reply: Je suis Africain!
  
 Cannot finish this way my Pordo Friend 
 You take and go away, is this humane?
 I am not forgetting you until the end. 

Translation by PS
Picture by MLMC