Essex man slept, dreaming of soaring house prices
And high in the North African sky
Swirling vortexes of super- charged winds were
Plunging onto the Saharan desert
Where Bedouin warriors slept dreaming of
Wild ambushes on Arab slavers.
Saharan sand swept high into the Stygian darkness
Of the North African sky, pinpricked with stars.
Sand lifted to where jet stream winds live and sand
Escaping North Africa forever and headed north.
Crossing the Mediterranean Sea, ignoring France,
Hopping the English Channel and gliding across Kent
Looking, searching for a better life in Essex.
The Saharan sands descended on sleepy Romford
Capital city of all that is good in Essex.
Cars, innocent cars, loved more than wives
Adorning paved forecourts and grubby gutters
Felt nothing. But soon knew their world had changed
As sand covered their glistening, polished surfaces
Eager for children’s fingers, who’d write
Witty, timeless comments like- Wash Me!
And the sand kept coming from thousands of miles away
And doctors denounced the foreign sand,
“Stay Inside. Be Terrified! Avoid this intruder!” They said
And hand- holding mothers said, “How wise.”
As they talked their incessant mobile phone talk.
Jet streamed sand petered out and
Essex slept a prosperous sleep
(Drugged by soaring house prices)
And the born again warriors of the Sahara slept
Dreaming vivid ecstatic dreams of slaughter.