Pack, unpack, repack, unpack:
I moved around from house to house
From place to place, until at last
I settled on a narrow street
With neighbours three small steps
From the door, and thin windows
That allowed every single noise
From outside, no matter what,
To sneak into my room at night.
Others moved around still more
Not only between houses and streets,
But job to job, finding some solace
Unbeknownst to me, in being
The new guy all the time. It was
Sad to see some of these drift away.
They faded, emerging in an unknown
Location; their footprints left
Only memories in their wake.
Those of us who stayed were tied
To the one place that reflected
Us in mirrors designed to look
Like some basic form of home.
Where cinemas and bowling alleys
Welcomed expats and their cash;
Every leisure activity catered for.
In that place you could buy anything
From base desires to luxuries.
Where dirty, seedy acts were mentioned
Without a hint of embarrassment or shame
At being desperate enough to pay;
The district sprawled out like
A spread of delicacies upon a platter:
Ever tempting, what to sample first
A decision never easy to make.
We dipped into one and then the next
Moving house, but not moving home.
© Laura Marie Clark
Excerpt from the book City Of The World
About the Author
Laura is a writer and blogger near Lincoln, England. She is the author of City of the World – a collection of poems that take the reader on an adventure living and working as a teacher in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, to explore the highs and lows of life as an expat.
Visit Author Page At: www.ctupublishinggroup.com/laura-marie-clark.html