by Olivia Mei Lai Swan meilai@wildmail.com
she slips onto the train
as it slips out of the station
sits down by the door
where she can't see her reflection
in the window opposite
“next station siam squareâ€
a woman, flared jeans and rampant hair
plugged into walkman littering the air
with an indecipherable hum
gets up, hovers coolly by the door
siam, siam
is gone
remembered only by cats
whose tails are mysteriously severed
in the back lanes
are rabid dogs
and indifferent men pushing carts
piled high with brooms, buckets, mats, refuse
ringing their bells, bored and weary
and she wonders if they sweat
in the midday heat
as they wander in search of a sale
if these people are friendly
they seldom smile
the suit with the phone yells abuse down the line -
its meaning clear in any language -
and the woman on the footbridge
holds a 7-11 cup for some change
her kid curled up at the other end
asleep
bare from waist up, thighs down
seeking escape from the desperation
tiny fingers still clutching at plastic cup
the streets reek of dog piss and rot
and the front page of the paper
reveals the discovery
of shreds of human flesh
in the septic tank of a hotel
where a doctor flushed his estranged wife
down the toilet, disposing of the evidence
downtown is full of trendies wearing practiced expressions
of aloofness and ambivalence
expressions of their entrance into the modern world
where it's all shop-and-consume, baby
and she wonders how long it's been
since these video-clip youth abandoned paddy fields
to search for a better life
in the concrete labyrinth of the city of the angels
she's on the midnight train
her stop is the end of the line
she considers her reflection in the glass of the door
waiting for it to slide open
even now the streets are alive
with people and traffic -
sleepwalkers and escapees -
she steps onto the platform
and vanishes in the crowd
