Yesterday, as I rode my bike to drop some things off at a friend's house, I started writing this poem in my head. I shared it on facebook, but I thought it might make a good blog post too.
slowly behind as traffic
writhes and wriggles it's way
down the soi of many
names: Market Street,
Soi Prem, Ha Baht Road, though
no one calls it that anymore since
Sib Baht Road doesn't roll
off the tongue
in the same way.
We slither along to
the sounds of som tam and curry
paste, wafts of coconut rice and
fried chicken, the array of produce a sea
of color in the evening sun.
The woman in front of me
has several dozen eggs
strapped to the back
of her moto. Are they
hard boiled? I doubt it,
she creeps along, slower
even than I. Rush
hour on the back roads
in Bangkok.
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