The Visitors.

The middles aged people who come here
in jeeps, and dressed in shirts that look
like tapestry, are tourists; take pictures of
ancient houses about to fall down and of
dogs, cats and hoary old goats.

They are very friendly, ask how old I’m,
impressed and put money into my hands,
when I say 105; it is the air and calm life
they tell each other, no point telling them
I’m forty-five and drink a lot.