red and white triangles flag the river wind
on a slender bamboo pole cemented in the ledge
in Taichung's elected clean-air promise
two graceful egrets swoopfully play over the gap
in one last ride before the collapse
near the sugar plantation, abandoned, a super
highway
pylons tower over a dream home monolithic
the slice of nature dreamed becoming a
dream
the illusion of free men stays on track
through the work of gangster wintermelon, red and black
implodes locals, drawing them out
nothing that affects expats with the knack
this American isn’t turning back
i sold my soul overseas for food and shelter
no more believable than a common
liar
paraded like a soot-faced Buddha on the commercial strip
in a civilized darkness holier than any distant brightness
with the illusion of water crawling over steps
descending endlessly and gently into the river unnoticed
on touchstones of transit for sunning turtles
with human stride up to the ankles
good sense not to immerse myself
nothing but puffy clouds and green mountains
and scooters breaking laws no one obeys
liberty of litter stretched as far as the eye
to watch Taiwan pop naturally by
12-6-18
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved
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