Little Local Life Poem by Tom j. Parker

Translation,
laundry prices,
nauseating,
woman downstairs
washes socks,
friendly,
troubled

Stitches coloured fabrics
along the weathered rims
says hello on sunny mornings
peers from among the ironing

quick fix
security guard
flirts with french hippies
and locks out the drunk
with a dusty key

Handy man
leisurely
sports gold necklace
eats fried crickets
hill tribe wife
cooks round the back

room is cold today
lacking air
girlfriend spits chicken bones
on my mosquito bitten feet

tomorrow is a monday
sun will hide again
laundry woman smiling
translation with a pen
foreigners washing happy
lost, no home again.