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DON SCHOFIELD


Be an Expatriate for a Week
 
                                        Ad in a writers' Journal


Monday
You've come to reap the blessings of escape,
the sun, the sea, this whitewashed village street.

Tuesday
The country you left is a subtle measure
making everything you see exotic.

Wednesday
The locals welcome you into their shops.
You know they'll like you if you keep on smiling.

Thursday
Cops and waiters look at you askance,
underneath their silence endless questions.

Friday
You can't explain their little roadside shrines,
why amid Aleppo pines you're crying.

Saturday
The landscapes you once knew, the ocean's pounding—
memories inside your head expanding,

Sunday
Blessed be the writer now returning
to his room for another midday nap.