The Cameleer

By Brandon Marlon 

We trail the desert veinlet

amid an elongated gorge

of sandstone, rosy and curvaceous,

until at length it depletes into a donga

as it reaches the caravanserai,

dingy and unattended,

a blessed sight for sore eyes.

 

I dismount to splash and gulp

with cupreous ewer chained to its fount,

then release numb limbs

on mats round glowing logs,

faint, spent, and weary,

dead to the world till moonset.

 

Before long guttural beasts thrum

disquiet, juddering their jowls

as they ogle stained earth,

sniffing chilly night for the fell scent

of whelps, red in tooth and claw,

gorged with blood and close by.

 

Fatigue dulls me to overnight howls,

though I slumber with scimitar

gripped, with one eye open,

impatient for servanted hours

when the only packs are those

borne by uniformed hamals,

and the lunar fang has long

withdrawn before daybreak’s quirt.

 

Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. (Hon.) in Drama and English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry has been published variously in Canada, the U.S., England, Greece, Romania, Israel, and India. www.brandonmarlon.com.