fff fff fff
are the thongs on the concrete
shhh shhh shhh
are the brooms on the roadside
Dead thong in the delta
dry rice in the dirt
and when all the people turn to dust
who will sweep up?
We have been looking for the poem factory.
The cyclo drivers say they know where it is,
but we never actually get there.
Pleasant enough chaps,
a little too desperate for comfort.