HAREM HOLIDAY OR RED, RED WINE
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…….
Phyllis McKenna 