Maddened, disabled by a city’s sandstorm of demands
to spend, earn, move on, the Burmese Romeo
avoids pavement, cops, and sellers, craves
pearls of mangosteen, elephant ear pillows.
On Sundays sneaks a schoolgirl into the Government House
Gardens, his sweater on soil, remains in her eyes
as he pulls out, feeds her stolen bush tucker. They check
for cameras, fix hair, chuck rubber to street trash.
Monuments, memories to mice and popcorn, young lovers
with no where to go, also fuck in the front row
beneath seats blanketed by the flicker of Hebrew
landscapes, waves of French muffling moans.
Fresh lust beyond concrete dust always finds
the python and Eve, the moisture of private jungles.

 

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