I was drinking Swan Lager
Slouched on a modular lounge
In an archaic colonial house
And through the louvres
I could hear the sea breeze
Brushing bougainvillea petals
And nudging sun-curled leaves
On fruit-laden tropical trees
While waves washed the shore
And the passing parade
Of Africans spoke in sounds
That made me afraid
And I felt strange and foreign.
Tonight I sip cheap scotch
And I am horizontal
On an old man’s recliner
In a modern dwelling
Not far from rice paddies
And there are golden shower flowers
Lining the lanes winding
Towards markets and temples
And beyond wide open windows
The neighbours converse
As if in infinite song
Up and down
Asia’s tonal scales
While blanched lemongrass
And scorched chillies season the air
Below the smoky crown
Of a still starless hot sky
That masks mountains nearby
And I am an alien and an outsider.
