Wanderlust

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this looking for a pile of gold
this looking for the filthy gentleman
this looking for the young years
in darayday and santa maria
this looking for another shore
is it looking for what is not there?

in honolulu, did you look for the sun in the west
or the moon by night?
or did you look for the bitchy word
or was it baguio in the garbage at a waimanalo
back street.
what did you say to him who begged for a dollar
as you stepped out of dimsum after the eating hour?
did you wave him away, remembering the grease man
stretching his arm for alms on the pavement
facing the boulevard near the quiapo catholic church?

what were you mumbling as you crossed the street
for the civic honda underneath a lamppost in chinatown?

and what did you say to her who greeted you, a smile breaking
her oriental face, as you jabbed at eggplants among asian greens
at dong phung? did she mistook for for a vietnamese/laotian
cousin as she babbled on, her words galloping like wild horses
on the great plains of amarillo to san francisco?

the TV was on, the bad guy was cursing, son of a bitch, we are
in terrible, terrible danger. john-john nee juan juan was by his lonesome
in the room playing with his plastic flute.

the snow is gone from the foot of the cottonwood
and so are the dark mornings and evenings, the high winds
at amarillo medi-park, where there are a thousand flying geese
and white lazy ducks now agitated for their late morning meal
as the huge black woman throws bird food
upon the murky waters.

stop it! stop it! was the woman in red jogging pants screaming
as you aimed the digital camera towards the sun above the pine tree
she was passing by? or was it a hound dog barking non-stop
in the usual violent dream?

whatever, arise, old friend from the bench, and walk the meandering path
home where waits the new york best- seller you bought wat wal-mart.
it is a must read tonight while brown men toil, their color turning dark brown
in the sun-drenched country of shattered dreams.