I wrote a poem shortly after witnessing a slightly disturbing sight on the roadside. See the previous two entries for Siem Reap stories. Here's the poem...
Alone
They mingle over the mangle,
bicker over the bike,
and how I lost
my life.
They scuttle around the scooter,
whisper ‘who does he know?’
as I’m sprawled out,
alone.
My face is crushed with crusty blood,
dust shames my bone-white shirt-
I don’t mean to
disturb.
I watch them as they walk away,
the bike goes for repair.
They know there’s life in that bike yet-
not in my stony stare.
No need for them
to care.
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