Waiguoren

Shuffling down Shi Quan Jie
with hair on their knuckles
and flesh bloating their knees,
with bodies stuffed into shops
and wallets fattened on kuai,
waiguoren have taken over the town.

Cameras chained to their necks,
skin reeking sunscreen and sweat,
they’ve swept gardens of charm
and plucked the lotus of blooms
and dipped painted toes in the tarn;
waiguoren have taken over the town.

On rank nights, pleading fresh air,
men pin their wives to sheets white,
and slouch toward shadowy bars
where the ex-peasant girls wait
selling shares in free-market touch;
waiguoren have taken over the town.

In temples buying off Buddhas,
swaggering drunk in ex-pat pubs,
they’ve laid claim to the canals
and poled the red-lantern punts
into mirrors and harbored there;
together, we’ve taken over the town.