They don’t know me here and I
am not familiar with them either
so far from the place called home
in a language I still cannot speak.
Not that it’s going to be easier
in this new country of mine, but
for a short while I guess I'll get by
as the Thai script does appeal to me.
Giant billboards along highways
monorails being built day and night
by the workers of the aptly named
Italian-Thai construction company.
California Prep. Drug free campus,
4D Happiness ads on the airport link,
a mysterious sign stating Hairism
next to the Victory Monument square.
Minivans speeding up, overtaking
pickups, tuk-tuks, old public buses
with their windows wide open stuck
at the red light in many a traffic jams.
Air-conditioning and leather seats
I travelled in style from Bangkok to
Pak Chong, the northeastern outpost
where someone from home lives in.
The night bazaar makes the town
alive, its hundreds of stalls selling
finger food I’ve never seen before
save fried grasshoppers and jackfruit.
When I tried to cross the main road,
a traffic-packed Champs-Élysées
dotted with vegetation and Thai flags,
it took me fifteen minutes to make it.
This is the little Far East I know so far
for a sudden black-out limited somehow
my evening explorations out and about:
I’ll mingle with locals to see and be seen.