Yard Sale of Thoughts

New rice, tasty fish (khao mai pla man)

No ice in my drink

at the Ekkamai ice rink,

where the metal clink of the glasses

with unknown rose-colored sake

tastes like a treat.

Our suitcases remain unpacked,

yet we pick sushi off of a conveyor belt,

get full off the little things

like the cascading lights

from a neighboring building,

a waterfall of unpredictable rainfall,

and the celadon eyes of a stray cat,

warm and welcoming,

as I make my way past

on disappearing sidewalk tracks,

and despite being drenched

day and night,

city stench,

and so much small talk,

I wouldn’t change a thing.