a saigon corner

the street is heroin-free public-toilet blue
and the buildings are linked by a mess of
power lines
tangled like capillaries.
women with toothless grins try to sell aging fruit
and a man offers opium? cocaine?
a light rain
no wetter than breath
sprinkles on our exposed knees and elbows.

my boyfriend’s stigmata

we ponder buying
most exquisite of champagnes
or bargain three pack of red.

my boyfriend says:
Oh. Shit.

blood
leaks
from
nails

I joke:
It’s Stigmata!

But, despite tired smiles,
and casual, unconcerned laughter,
beneath the shop clerk’s quivering smile

demons
of
belief
skulk

passport control

we arrive
with dry hands
dry lips
dry eyes
and hair designed by airplane

EU to the right
left for Non-EU

the difference is
significant

- but!

i say

- i live here!

wry smiles
and a choir of accents reply

- don't we all?