Standing by the dingy doorway of a market style restaurant,
I urged my small, blonde nine year old into the shop.
"Just buy us some juice."
Walking in, he is eyed by more then a few men
drinking tea while sitting on pillows.
"What kind of juice?" he yells back to me.
Standing fully in black,
the temptation to run instead of answer was hard to push down.
Anonymous- at least they have no idea who I am beneath the abaya and veil.
My swishing hand points to the water bottles in ice.
It is 110 in the shade
the black is searing.
The small voice says, "how much?" in Arabic
The shopkeeper only deals with him,
Takes my money,
and he returns to me,
outside the restaurant.