SUBURBAN BANGKOK

Hours ago the heat

Surged past plain hot,

Bouncing off the concrete

Into my face,

Scorching, scalding

My paler tone of white,

Coming from skies

Smog-smeared,

But not erased.

And the traffic moves

Like a lame tortoise,

Lurching on by lunges

To empty space,

Cars avoiding scooters -

The gap so slight

No human eye can see

The tiny place.

There is no remote refuge

On main streets

Amongst food vendors

And the well-stocked stalls

Standing in the shadows

Of Tesco’s fare

In air-conditioned aisles

Behind the walls.

There's barbecued fish

On an east-west lane

Where two-tiered houses

Form sunset’s frame.