13. Morocco (Fez)
Dark, narrow, twisting, threatening.
Alleyways in the old town.
Mules push past improbably.
I stumble sideways under another archway.
Nostrils prickle, assaulted by the stench of the Tannery ahead.
Bubbling, mediaeval vats, vivid yellow and red dyed skins, scraped clean on the earth, basking their stink in the bleaching sun.
jpm
50 words for 50 countries 
Nothing like the stench of a tannery! I remember the one down the road from uni at Newcastle-on-Tyne in England. Always had to hold my nose! Never saw what was behind those gates though. Your poems are so evocative. The 50-word format works a treat.
Carol – thanks so much for your encouragement, I really do appreciate it. We visited the old tanneries in the caves under Nottingham Castle with the kids last year – when they started telling us about what they put in there – urine, dead rats etc., to cure the leather, it was enough to make me gag!!