The fisherman
hip-deep in muddy water
waits for the tourist boat
to pass.
Cigarette dangling
his bright eyes never leave me.
When the tide turns, Barang,
they tell me
I’ll slit your throat.
The boat belches diesel.
We pick up speed.
February 8, 2013
Tourist Boat, Tonle Sap, Cambodia
By hjs
This entry was posted on Friday, February 8th, 2013 at 8:26 pm and tagged with cambodia, poems, Tonle Sap, tourism and posted in All poems, Holiday snaps, Moments, Places. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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- In the Still of the Night
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