Solitary Purpose

Another soulless hotel room,
     another mission.

The empty incantations of the Captain and
     the tired pre-flight litany,

A perilous taxi sanctified by a plastic flower
     long dead,

We ply between the complacent shores of plenty      and the torpid shores of want.

A solitary table in the company of the
     Draft Report,

Tired eyes etched with cynicism,
     searching for the Holy Grail

In a sun washed paradise scarred by
     poverty and power.

I want nothing more than to sleep in my own bed,
     for the touch of family,
     and to eat home food.

But a few days and I'm on the road again,
     Ordained by the notion that I can make
     a difference.

Len Abrams
March 2002
in a hotel room in Nairobi