Waiting, for our train to stop or to start
a line, we want our clockwork poetry.
We want spreadsheets to write a smile
on a Chinese businessman’s face.
Surely there is a law against waiting too long:
we bow to the lesser gods.
On the station concourse, we exchange life
too quickly for a message on our phones.
Like me, you are a man limping
without a watch and a tie.
We need assurances of fortune cookies
out of the smelting factory of our days.
Sometimes I am tired like a tourist
eating popcorn in an amusement park.
We are snails out of a shell of countries –
can there be a Spirit like water from a stone?
My wallet is a short talisman against the hour –
is there a book waiting to be read?
Poem and photograph previously featured in Friends Newsletter. Hong Kong: Friends of the Art Museum, CUHK. Jan 2013 Issue.