Bangkok night street market
The amber light swallows the pits of blackness
while the chickens sizzle in the marrow of their own
belly fat, greasy spoons, we wet our lips in
hungry jest, stutter language, speak
with our hands in exaggerated pantomime,
confuse foreigners with natives, lick
the yellow from the ceiling fans at a
constantly slow buzz, water a near-dead plant,
hands slung at hips, motorbikes line the
sidewalks like lonely girls littering the walls
at a school dance; it is a gaudy hour, car horn
squawks, green cardigan peels from the top of
shoulders, sweat camouflaging as skin. The laughter
of a single world converged in the apex of a
quick meal.