Henry Huynh
By
Ken W Simpson
A Rough Ride in Vietnam
The bus to Saigon
was three hours late
for the jolting
seven hour ride
over potholed roads
constantly tooting
meandering motorcyclists
passing by vestiges of jungle
thatched and rusty shacks
while a large TV
blasted a comedy routine
as we squeezed past trucks
and helmeted riders
with pretty girls in shorts
as pillion passengers
until we finally arrived
gliding apathetically
like somnambulists
through the endless
enigmatic city streets.
Whispers of Neglect
A line
empty of words
waits for a thought
nervous and uncertain
trying to fit in
to look attentive
while others joke
about the shape of sorrow
as moments
self-consciously pass
in pursuit of profundity
along random paths
by fields of folly.
The Evolution of a Moment
A glimpse of secular bliss
sitting next to me
behind a fragile facade
detouring around doubts
a replica of reality.
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