page 5

The City in the Morning.

Seoul.

         -- You the whore.
You, girl, are the city.
Your cosmetic, corpse like,
And whitened limbs
Hide the brown
The almond eye,
The beauty of the mongol
Is concealed
From Western gaze
As the sign for pepsi-cola
Obscures the age old pagan
Archway. Dai Hun.
Your sores are the city's sores.
You are broken, also,
By the dollar wielding heel.

Tokio.

         -- You the merchant.
Jet haired little man
Dark suit, brief-case
And dirty shoes
You are Tokio.
Your gold rimmed teeth
Selling.
I saw you last night though,
(a glance through a hole in a paper door)
So today you are selling
Selling
To be able to play far into the night.

page 6

Hiroshima.

         -- You the soldier.
You were of steel.
The destiny of your holy war
You planned here.
The dove perched
Now
On your obelisk
Has grown hysterical.

Kyoto.

         -- You the priest.
Your's is the maico,
The half fledged geisha you bore.
The moss gardens and templed stone lanterns
Of your past religions
Could
Wrench the head of your country
To an inspired end.
You remember armour clad
Daimyos, samurai in a peaceful war.
Bushido and the GI
Have not sullied
Your innocence.

Hong Kong.

         -- You the refugee.
You have fled your country
As a traitor.
You are free to eat
From your half filled rice bowl
You are free to beg
In the street
And sell your daughter.

- Robin F. Patchett.