EGYPTIAN COTTON

Cutting a rubbery chicken with a plastic knife
somewhere just south of Hurgadah,
we watch the businessmen in their camel-
coloured loafers trying to sell the wall-eyed
Germans Egyptian cotton in an American mall
with an Italian name. Where on earth are we?
One answer would be: at a melamine table
in the American mall with an Italian name
somewhere just south of Hurgadah,
off an unmarked road in the desert
that becomes the beach on the Red Sea.
Another would be: anywhere, these days.