The second piece of homework for the Andy Jackson course. Not very happy with this one. It’s been a record-breaking, stinking hot week in Adelaide and I haven’t felt much like writing.
The prompt for the second poem, greatly summarised, is “place”. This is my response. The An Thuongs are a set of streets near where I lived in Đà Nẵng, full of bars, cafes, burger joints, street vendors, massage parlors, hostels, expats, drunks, drunken expats, Korean tourists, Thuốc Lào smokers (strong pipe tobacco), weed smokers, dogs, the occasional pig, loud music and all sorts of activity, most of which I could never figure out. But I did love the bars there, and a dull night was a rarity.
An Thuong 4
Each day is a riddle
Night is electric black
obscured by grey plumes
A short-circuit cracks the air
Locals make the “I have no fucking idea” sign
The fridge hums with Saigon Specials
A pig hoovers up peanuts
The Wifi password is “thankyou”
Police are midnight knocking
for permits and bribes
It’s Tet : Chúc mừng năm mới
A tattooed man steals a beer
The barman serves enigmas
The hostel is one shipping container
on top of another
The security guard is
like your favourite uncle
but answers no questions
Two white guys swap punches
Weed smoke hovers over the dog
Russian Roulette was a thing
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© Mike Hopkins 2019
mistakenforarealpoet 
Love this, Mike. Don’t let the heat get you down. It’s 20 something here.
Sent from my iPhone
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