The Streets Of Ramle

You cannot get much different from Modiin than nearby Ramle town,

In Ramle the shops, the roads, the cafes and people all rundown,

Dented by life and accident of birth, a pot pourri of people spilled there,

Arabs and Israelis of all different shades shaken around giving the place its flare,

I drank the sights in as I strolled the main streets, happy for the change today,

A contrast to the clinical homogeneity and sameness characterizing the Modiin way,

In a side turning thronging with life my sister pointed out a curious structure to me,

A half wall erected in the corner of the pavement, an open air shelter it appeared to be,

A man’s head protruded from the roofless enclave which was without a door,

It took a few minutes for the penny to drop to understand what it was that I saw,

It was a public toilet, I suppose better than a tree, but to be honest only just,

I couldn’t believe anybody would use it, that is unless they must,

A Modiin prude, hard to convince, I had to take a photo to make sure it was real,

The Ramle residents peeing alfresco in a loo of natural elements and ventilation appeal.

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