A Room in Chungking

On the gritty wall

askew

in sultry disrepair,

hangs Hokusai’s Great Wave.

Almost a  window once perhaps,

this place has won it over

Below

On crumpled sheets,

she cradles him like a cello
having fed him a teaspoon of sin.

Pallid tenderness he weeps he knows.

She sees and lets him go.

On her way out

She passes

three wrong clocks

that tick out a tinny gallop.  

London, New York, Hong Kong

She sighs,

"London, New York, Hong Kong."