Message from Hong Kong

The sun burns open a new day.
We eat boiled shrimp on a mattress.
Last night was our disagreement.
My wife is two oceans away.
 
We eat boiled shrimp on a mattress.
I don’t know Cantonese.
My wife is two oceans away.
You know just enough English.
 
I don’t know Cantonese.
Victoria Harbour is muddy green.
You know just enough English.
Remember meeting at Chungking Mansions?
 
The Pakistani sold us gulab jamun.
Last night was our disagreement.
Shrimp heads are piled on a plate.
The sun burns open a new day.   

 Note : gulab jamun:  a donut-like dessert soaked in rosewater syrup

On the Way to Welcome Market, Hong Kong

I wobble with Bell’s palsy,
Face paralyzed stumbling along
Oxford Street in Kowloon Tong. 
Patch over unblinking eye.
 
Fog devours the emerald ridge
Separating us from New Territory.
Shadows fall backwards, kuroko my steps.
Sun rises where it should set.
 
A white cat sleeps in the gutter.
I pass gloss-black gates
Embossed with dragons.
Girl jogs by tugging a pug. 
 
The top half of Mao’s face
Peers over a balcony on Renfrew Road.
The PLA barracks are deserted.
Fence surrounds the invisible army.

A jun ren standing in a box
Shifts rifle from right shoulder to left. 
Woman in pants and pandanus hat
Rakes the empty lawn.

Notes:

kuroko:  stagehands in kabuki theatre dressed in black

jun ren:  soldier

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