Day's End
night divides as clearly
as the brightness of day
time cuts and doubly sharp
in the shadow of night
on the last train of tokyo subway
you see a woman, middled age
a goddess all on her own
face heavily painted
her fingers heavy with rings,
one of a big torquoise,
another white crystal,
and another plain gold
her powder betrays her
the lines cut through
leaving a chill
between the mouths
that in the silence
scream to the world of
the thirst underneath
to be young and supple again
and desirable as a young virgin
she looks suspiciously
and listlessly towards you
as you give her that telling
glance of what she is
the light in the red light part of town
she works is even dimmer
than the younger ones'
a lane as cold as it can be
if you are not drunk,
down and out and sordid
under bright chandeliers
in a flashy part of town
newly created manipulative angels
flutter around in body hugging dresses
obvious of the advantage they have
leaving a trail of paris designer's fragrance
female crickets
they walk faster, in full confidence too
and could tango in the highest of heels
[...] Read more
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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