Boarding a Camel
 Merzouga, Morocco

They say they’re patient, gentle critters
(perhaps for Berber outfitters),
but I am weak-kneed with the jitters.

Behind the rubber lips of camels,
two-inch teeth of brown enamel
might crave a tender, foreign mammal.

These beasts obscenely masticate.
I hear they kick. I fear my fate,
yet screw up courage, pay the freight.

Approach a camel from the side,
instructs the robed and head-wrapped guide.
Go slow. He flicks one camel’s hide;

the creature drops to knobby knees—
first front, then back, with awkward ease.
Madam, to mount, right foot here, please;

swing left leg over. I nearly kick    
the man—who ducks in slapstick—
and plop atop the camel, thick

with blankets. Now lean back. Be calm.
It straightens back legs with aplomb
and I’m thrown forward in salaam,

hanging on. Then front legs rise
to their impressive five-foot size
and lift me skyward, like a prize.

Half the world is clearest blue,
the other half a tawny hue
in sweep of dunes: a new world view

as I am led and lurched and swayed
in this morning’s escapade . . .
how thrilling to be so conveyed.

Barbara Lydecker Crane

 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Barbara Lydecker Crane would be pleased to hear them.