Long before the red mud staining the soles of my feet is gone,
Days before I've eaten the last great flat circle of cassava bread you gave me,
Even while I still have that sweet ache inside -
I'm back in the concrete jungle.
Nobody here says hello in the street
No smell of coffee roasting and burnt sugar tablette.
No hibiscus hedges along footpaths
No chickens underfoot.
No tidy schoolchildren hurry past in neat gingham uniforms
All the children here, so few compared to Haiti, are captive in cars,
Whisked away, out of sight into a life of alien electronics.
There is no trash here, no crowding,
If there are slums they are far away
No music in the streets, no-one dances going by.
Almost everyone has enough or too much of everything
Taking no joy in it - we don't enjoy plenty if we never knew the lack.
I'll keep you alive in my mind, and Haiti -
So that I don't forget how little I need,
How much I can give from the surplus
Not only material things but what I gain
In knowing the broader world but seeking the simpler.
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