Tu Do Street,Saigon

By: David Wright

AFTERWARDS, I SMOKE A CIGARETTE,

AND WATCH HER DRESS.

SHE DOES SO METICULOUSLY.

EACH MOVE IS DELIBERATE AND PRECISE.

KNOWING THAT I AM WATCHING,

SHE TURNS AND SMILES.

“YOU MAKE ME SHY”. SHE GIGGLES.

“I DON’T THINK SO”. I REPLY.

SHE SITS IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR,

HER SMALL FIRM BREASTS BOUNCE GENTLY,

AND BEGINS TO COMB HER HAIR.

HAIR THAT IS SOFT AS DOWN.

AND FALLS BENEATH HER WAIST.

SHE SITS STRAIGHT,

HER BACK ARCHED.

IT’S A GAME SHE PLAYS.

“HOW CAN SHE DO IT”? I MARVEL

TO CONTINUE LIKE THIS,

A FEW HOURS OR DAYS WITH ONE,

THEN ANOTHER,

AS IF NOTHING HAD CHANGED,

FROM HER SCHOOLGIRL DAYS.

OR DID SHE REALIZE TOO SOON,

LIKE I,

IN A CORNER OF THE EARTH GONE MAD,

WHERE TWENTY-FIVE IS OLD,

THAT NOTHING IS FOREVER,

AND NO ONE WAS EVER REALLY YOUNG.

Continental Hotel, Tu Do Street, Saigon, Republic of Vietnam