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ipoet
Poems
Nov 2012
When water tasted as good as my Palestinian friend said it would
They removed the thermostats,
And made us pay for every cup of water we used,
I was standing in the rain,
With a white friend and a Servant.
We marveled at the homemade architecture,
Hopped the rivulets of grime,
And heaved big sighs.
I asked him why there were,
Water tanks with signs that read,
Twenty shillings a litre.
He said,
They sell water here too.
Scottish men protect,
Single malt whiskey,
Welsh women,
The language they speak,
My Palestinian friend once told me,
Water,
Israelis keep.
Written by
ipoet
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