I’m waiting for the day
when the tour guide takes us to the house he grew up in,
tells us about his mother and where she grades her papers,
throws hot tea in our faces and says
“excuse me we drink tea here.”


When last night I kissed a Spanish gentleman
on the neck at the "Just for Gods" bar,
it felt out of place and I said
”excuse me how do you say kissing is prohibited here?”


We’re living underwater
with the stray dogs that play on the streets
in the trash that falls
from the theater stage on the second floor.


"But the dogs," the guide says, "they have homes,
they just don’t know it."

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