I have been going to Dubai since 1978, sometimes 3 times a year, and I have seen many, many changes. One of the greatest is the creation of a road called “The Walk” in Jumeriah. It is a promenade with shops, cafes, a fountain in the pavement and is full of people strolling. This is so unusual as Dubai was designed for cars and people did not stroll. Now of course there are buses and a Metro as well as areas for people to promenade. This poem was written in 2012 and started in my notebook whilst I was enjoying one of my favourite activities, people watching from a small pavement table savouring an espresso.
I am reading my poem, the music is “We Fall Down” by Eric Feinburg from Epidemic sound and the street noise from the BBC effects website.
The feature image is of the lake with dancing water spouts in front of the Burj Khalifa as I do not have a photo of “The Walk”.
In Front of the Movenpick Hotel – Dubai
Watching.
Just watching the world go by
from here in Jumeirah.
A small square table, wicker chair,
little cup wetted with coffee.
A Ferrari, low and red, crawls past
coughs to clear its injectors and valves,
impatient in the long expensive jam.
A chrome-plated Rolls Royce
stands in front of the hotel,
the driver sleek in shorts and beard.
Pinch-faced women prick by
on pin-sharp legs, delicate as they step.
Wives, wearing bird-beak leather masks,
jiggle in sparkly jeans, colourful trainers
under close-black, blind-black,
hold hands with their trendy husbands.
There are brave girls with just a scarf
or even dark, coiled hair,
but no chaperone father, husband or brother,
just the long black shadow.
Earlier were mothers and maids
with babies in high, sprung buggies,
grey haired couples in slacks and shorts,
the occasional suit and tie.
A Big Red Bus sweeps by with diesel roar,
bemused tourists clutter the top deck.
The street, granite sets, the pavement
granite squares, in glorious colour,
and I think of the monochrome patterns
of chewing gum on broken, concrete slabs.
I watch a man hosing the gulley
and two square metres around.
He’s been at it an hour or more.
It makes a change from sitting
in his two-by-two concrete box
lifting the barrier for exiting cars.
As the sun dives into the sea.
Stout-limbed lusty boys
wearing shorts that shout “Yeah!”
go by with beautiful-limbed girls
wearing shorts that shout “Hey!”
She brings my second espresso.
The air blackens, lights brighten.
Some go by with purpose,
some just shooting the breeze.
Me?
I watch, just watch.
© Anthony Fisher November 2012