A restlessness took hold my brain,
and questions I could not hold back.
An orange monkey on a chain
on a bleak uneven track
told me that to understand
you must travel back in time.
I took a plane to a foreign land
and said, I’ll write down what I find.
Beneath a mountain’s jagged shelves
cloaked with snow and shadows sheer
plates tipped up upon themselves
the pain of 50 million years
and mules and goats were running wild.
A happy chaos carried on
and old men and young boys smiled,
and worked until the day was gone.
Packs of sandy-coloured dogs
walked streets that looked like building sites,
but piles of rocks and dust and smog
could not block out a different light.
When I returned I ran to meet
the monkey, but his face had changed.
He stood before me on two feet.
The track was now a motorway.