Hong Kong
I wanted to eat fried scorpions,
or at least crispy grasshoppers.
But instead I ate chicken à la king at a KFC.
I was told snake was a popular food,
and the idea of snake struck me,
but the reality was, snake was out of season.
I expected everyone to be traveling
by scooter or bicycle, or on foot,
but I saw lots of cars, no simple conveyances,
and a vanishing network of hutongs, or alleys.
All signaled a consumerist system,
not a Communist colony.
Nubs of incense sticks sat in ash-filled burners
at doorsteps, as if to ward off bad luck:
recession, financial breakdown,
a tip in the balance of trade,
loss of shelter from taxes or typhoons.
These were the Asian business risks.
Oak Tree and Cypress
The oak tree and the cypress don’t grow in each other’s shadow. The oak is an upland tree, and the cypress is a swamp dweller. One of us is like the oak, the other like the cypress. We both grow, but not close enough to cast a shadow on the other. We could be within sight, one of us looking up from the water, the other looking down from the hill, if “looking” is the right word. “Swaying” might be more accurate. One of us sweeps upward with tendrils waving, while the other bends downward. That is, assuming we have both achieved the same height. The oak might be little more than a sprout, splitting the shell of an acorn. The cypress may be a seed in a cone. Or we could both be fully formed, hundreds of growth rings old. We may have become brittle. It might be hard for us to sway and bend. No more snapping and whipping for us. We might be content to stand where we are, letting the xylem and phloem flow quietly.
