Bad Ambassadors

Dahab

Duo drift from rug and cushion floors

And honey hookah haze into oven sand blast

And the offbeat rhythm of Marley's Jamming

Past Red Sea wannabe Rastafarians

Who whisper on the wind,

Ya wanna buy some, blood?

And desperate to prove they're street,

They go with one beyond the backstreets

To a rubble plot that never graces the brochures

And demand a smell test before you buy

But then the wind sneezes it away into the night

And the Rasta explodes in one direction,

While the duo shrink in another.