Day's End Poem by john tiong chunghoo

night divides as clearly
as the brightness of day

time cuts and doubly sharp
in the shadow of night

on the last train of tokyo subway
you see a woman, middled age
a goddess all on her own
face heavily painted
her fingers heavy with rings,
one of a big torquoise,
another white crystal,
and another plain gold

her powder betrays her
the lines cut through
leaving a chill
between the mouths
that in the silence
scream to the world of
the thirst underneath
to be young and supple again
and desirable as a young virgin

she looks suspiciously
and listlessly towards you
as you give her that telling
glance of what she is

the light in the red light part of town
she works is even dimmer
than the younger ones'

a lane as cold as it can be
if you are not drunk,
down and out and sordid

under bright chandeliers
in a flashy part of town
newly created manipulative angels
flutter around in body hugging dresses
obvious of the advantage they have
leaving a trail of paris designer's fragrance

female crickets

they walk faster, in full confidence too
and could tango in the highest of heels

their skin gleam like milk under
neons, and their voices a cat on heat

here and there, men in their prime
eyes excited as owl zerooing on a mice
try to play one up game
with their designer watches,
expenisve pipes, shoes and wear

out of the train, the middle age woman
walks to her one room apartment
echoes of her shoes hitting nightly and coldly
at the facts of life she finds hard to swallow

she tries to tell her lonely heart
for the umpteenth time, she is
a lot better than others her age
- at least she can still hide her lines
the only white lie she tries to do on herself
and catch some men double her age

her sleep is an ocean
she tosses and tosses
like waves floating between torture of night
and the longed for warmth of day