The three Mouseketeers stepped out once again

Angela, Joseph, Phyllis stepped on the plane                  

The destination was  hot and dry

Dry on two counts, no whiskey or rye

They’re off to Morocco, the red painted town

Still very hot when the sun goes down

Three hours later they step off their flight

Morocco is warm and pretty at night

Their taxi was driven by a guide who would

Explain the city as best he could

Six pairs of eyes darted around

Devoured every sight, heard every sound                              

Of this desert built city that they’d only seen

On brochures and pamphlets and T.V screen

Our trio were ejected in a dark cobbled street

Coats on their shoulders, bags at their feet

They looked at each other and were deathly afraid

Rumours of kidnap and evil slave trade

Angela and Phyllis they could understand

Concubines for a rich, old African man

But Joseph? Well, he is a good raconteur

He could entertain guests in the Presidents lair

The three stood still in this street very narrow

As a young boy approached with an outsize wheel barrow

The luggage was lifted and stashed in the cart

Fear in their eyes, terror in the heart

They lowered their heads in silent defeat

Too late now to beat a retreat

With a wave of his hands the driver yelled “Go!”

“Go! Go! with the boy, the way he will know,

He’s sure where to take you, it’s not very far.

But I sure can’t bring my motor car.”

With leaden steps and side by side

Three figures followed their Moroccan guide

Round creepy corners and cul de sacs

Weary travellers near heart attacks

But then the boy stopped and pointed down

To an iron grilled door painted brown

“Riad Irene,” he said with a grin

“Zis is you. You go in?”

Our friends gazed at the sinister door

The final destination scared them more

Maybe insects galore as big as a house

Then meet little Minnie and Mickey Mouse

But at least they’re not kidnapped

Let’s see what’s in store

Behind that dark, iron-clad front door.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…….