the streets were dirt, shuffled and aromatic, though
conjested with tourists a couple turns would take you
to some trees and a small relaxed table and chairs
an old thai woman, big steel fry pan in hand, noodles
or beef and chiles, any dish, dogs lazing in the heat
the palm studded sway of the tropics,
just a short walk from one of two bays, as if
this island had been doubly blessed by the gods
two hilly rocky mountains joined by this
paradisical spit, everything relaxed as nowhere else
in Thai, no cars, hence the sense of timelessness
and old Thai despite the crowding, here you could
almost forget the downside of third world asia
forgetting the words of the old fishermen
who through generations prized their hillside
houses, wedlocked to solid rock
no flimsy no-code stalls or bungalows
to be swept in a sickening shuffle
by an earth-mad tide.
(for Koh Phi-Phi, in memorium)
