The Casbah Poem by June Stepansky

We round a corner
and look down a web of dark alleys.
On either side old stone buildings
stand as they have for centuries.
Nothing has changed!

We are well-fed tourists
looking for the exotic.

We snap our pictures
of the dirty cobblestones,
and the dirty houses,
and the dirty children.

Our guide says,
“Don’t touch the children.
They have lice.”

We move on.
We have not touched the children,
and they have not touched us.