Cambodiana air-conditioned colonial coolness
Natives dressed in pretty silk pleasing to the eyes
In the center yet so far removed from the
hectic heat of this dreary dilapidated city
Uprooted pavements from outgrown trees
Expanse of dust
Where once were elegant boulevards
Strength of litter mixed with excrement
In overwhelming nauseating waves
Seemingly we noticed by vendors
And those who sit to taste their wares
On these street comers
Here UNTAC plants itself
Seed of hope, or foreign body
Serving only to disrupt, corrupt?
All pervasive presence of
white U.N. emblazoned
Jeeps and trucks and buses
Out of sync with the rhythm
Of cycle rickshaws,
scooter taxis, bicycles
Weaving a milling mass
of constant movement
Whose secret lies in
never quite coming to a halt
Pizza houses, party pubs and dollars
Whore houses
Reminiscent of the lorry-load of
European peacekeepers at the lake
Each with his woman from Vietnam
Paid for the day to play as lovers do
All this too
Along with new hotels and businesses
And badly needed coat of paint to brighten up the drabness
What can it mean to those who walk the street?
The woman who must beg to feed herself
Her child in arms, another in her belly
The older child of maybe seven years
Who follows mimicking to earn her keep herself
Men and boys with crutches to carry the stump
Of the missing leg, some pitiful
Yet others with still a sparkle in their eyes
The constant stream of slow moving beggars
with twisted limbs or frightened eyes
And yet what other hope?
No answer,
Only anger
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Cambodia
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