1 September 2005
Victoria Harbour is filthy
but not as filthy as the East River.
The Star Ferry comes in slowly
churning the dark waters, someone spits
tobacco juice from the upper deck,
white frothy foam spreads out from the bow,
and you watch me squirming on the hard bench,
smiling, teasing me about my discomfort,
looking like you're completely unaware
that anyone else is here, watching us,
fantasizing all sorts of images,
wanting them to be true, aroused
that we might really be foreign devils
and at any moment strip naked
like the foreigners in the movies.
You're too innocent for their eyes
and, besides, you think I'm too self-conscious.
© 2005, Satya J. Gabriel