At Billy Boozer’s, Kowloon Tong

I slip into Billy Boozer’s for a drink.
I am confident, hair dyed blond.
You are the Carlsberg girl, a beer model.
I like the green Danish frock.

I am confident, hair dyed blond.
You ask my age after the fourth pint.
I like the green Danish frock.
I know there are three decades between us.

You ask my age after the fourth pint.
We take a red cab with a silver roof.
I know there are three decades between us.
I barely speak Cantonese.

I hang the Do Not Disturb sign.
You are the Carlsberg girl, a beer model.
I give you a left-handed promise.
I slip into Billy Boozer’s for a drink.

 

 

The Ghost Barracks of Kowloon Tong

 

A gust from Lion Rock
Roars open my linen curtains

On the eleventh floor.
The People’s Liberation Army compound

Squats below me.
This is the strange heart of the district:

There are no twirling rifl es,
No shouting orders, no battalions,

No clippity-clop of boots.
Here are 20 acres

Surrounded by a woven fence
Crowned with razor wire.

Mint-green housing blocks
Eight stories high

Flank a Zhong Guo flag
Hanging limp on its pole.

Windows on every floor
Are shut, curtains drawn.

Satellite dishes on rooftops
Are umbrellas reversed –

They intercept only rain and dust.
Ghosts from China wars

Ascend and descend the stairwells.
A gardener in black pants

And a wide-brimmed hat
Trims timber bamboo.

A basketball court waits for players
Where no balls bounce.

A jun ren with peaked olive cap
Stands between a sentry box

And a red wall
Embossed with gold characters.

A taxi brakes hard on Renfrew Road—
Shouts echo off the asphalt.

The jun ren looks in my direction
Then, gazing through the fence,

Watches the crowd of students
Marching toward the Kowloon hills.

November in Kowloon Tong, Hong Kong

The winds have returned.

A cold sun burns through the veil of clouds.
Cantonese drifts past the shivering curtains.
I pretend you’re calling my name.

A cold sun burns through the veil of clouds.
I leave another message on your phone.
I pretend you’re calling my name.
The ironwood trees weep like willows.

I leave another message on your phone.
I scramble blood sausage with eggs for breakfast.