Hong Kong

Dotted lanterns wend invitingly

Up the smudged hillside.

I want to go there,

But the sculpted steps will be treacherous:

Yesterday was T8,

And the typhoon washed the whole island.

It has moved on now,

Moved home across the waves,

But it is still apparent,

Puddled on the roads and in the vapour.

The descendant mist stoops fast,

Faster than expected,

And soon those distant lanterns will be unwinked;

What then will guide the crowd,

Through the heavy, pressing shroud,

And keep the stumblers back

Beyond the brink?

Getting Away With Things

People get away with things

Because they make good metaphors.

Nobody wants squid ink in their cow’s milk,

Or snake bite in the community well;

The path most trodden is for chattel,

With the cud unchewed

In all four stomachs.

And the voice on the corner,

Swept up in the prevailing wind,

Surely has some sense to breathe

From her unkempt lips.

Don’t you hate it, when the umbrella

Span is nearly enough and leaves you nearly wet?

You pull it down fast, like a blind,

And single hairs get yanked in the metal hinges.

The amount of human festooned

In umbrella frames defies belief.

Plenty to restart, when we realise

The personalised clods we stand on

Owe us nothing.

That’s assuming, of course, that Elon

Finds enough introvert fuck-ups

To water carrots for the rest of their lives.

People get away with all sorts of silly things.