It smells of capitalism and church,
Drowned in incense, perfume and dirt.
Sevilla – it could be eaten off a spoon!
Sugar and cinnamon dusting the toon.
From the moon, it’s a confectionary shop
Swirls of cream squooshed on top
Shoes are shined and terraces tiled
Glancing through, Arab style.
And who knew? In the outskirts -
Communities of Senegalese,
Sipping tea and hibiscus juice
Picking at their roots
From large plates laced with love.
I saw a new city within a city,
And interlaced with ugly, the pretty.
Men on the bus
Cursing blue, clutching at
bottles of booze.
And Cádiz province -
So far away
Yet full of grace
In comparison.
Swap a curse
for a friendly hand
Huff out the bitterness
With the sand.