THE UNEMPLOYED 1: A Volunteer in Bangkok

What I will miss are the paydays
so I settled power and credit card bills with the last one

leaving just enough for a facilitation in Bangkok

   

before the Leaver gets paid, before the KL budget is received, before the lotto jackpot is won

after fixing a leak and a broken gentlemen's agreement. 

There was PITX and failed registrations

the distracting massage parlors in Huai Khwang

but I came for the guilds and homesters at The Palazzo 

for the smoked pork ribs, for the fried crispy pork, for the grilled pork neck

without compensation, with love, and with thanks.

Two more Amaranth shirts disposed

those that wafted of kretek with hints of Hong Thong

like sleep twice crushed by an Old Hag

salt crusted like broiled fish, savory like pork and noodles, tangy like grilled beef 

and the love story of Marx and Lenin. 

The crowd work but I did not shop

the garments are not mine and should be trashed
for a fee of 1,200 baht, for the price of $128

for a glass of tarty white wine, for a shot of spicy whiskey, for three cans of smoky beer

for a bus seat in Pasay's Friday rush hour.

The Shinobi slept before midnight

fridge ransacked, Saturday deleted, and I am free

fifteen good years and one more left for the Grim Reaper  

Red Horse cold as ice, wine red as Chilean blood, kinilaw bitter as goat bile

we will live long and prosper.