Poem: Giza Girl

I comb the streets
and look through trash.
I search for plastic and cardboard
and I bring to
papa's mule cart.
Wheels roll by

Heaps of rich garbage
means food for the family
and maybe a yellow mos for me.
In the near distance
are the pyramids
I smile for

Everyone sees me
with brown hair in
a golden ponytail -
no one looks like me.
On Sudan Street
I am the walking
sphinx.

ENDS

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