When the world closes
Every afternoon-
Closes its stories of shops,
Then all of the Chinese women
Come down off of
Those high rises
Where they've been migrating,
Taking busses
Receding for home- with
Stockings filled with rice
And watermelons-
Then they walk by me-
Their high heels upon
A dam-
Their soft brown loins that
Get as yellow as tigers
And lightening-
They know just enough
English to
Say hello and to walk
Away.
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