I wrote this one summer when I was visiting Taiwan. I had lived there previously so I was already familiar with the island. One question that looms throughout the piece is the relationship between China and Taiwan. China claims it as a territory. Taiwan considers itself independent (with help from the US).

::::::::

The orangutan was owned by some petty mafia types who used him as an attraction to sell gun-shaped lighters at the night market. Behind him are cages with cobras in them. The orangutan was a sad creature who drank Taiwan beer and smoked Long Life Cigarettes like any depressed human would. It wasn't an act. He really drank and smoked.

The Streets of Taiwan

We stand out like white sheep,

Stumbling along the crowded Taiwan streets,

Tripping on cracked sidewalks crammed with clothing racks and crates,

Congestion of vertical signs in Chinese hieroglyph--

An occasional decipherable word:

"Language School"

"Pub"

"McDonalds"

"Tiolet"

*

People scramble cross streets (traffic lights have mild significance):

Do Not Walk?

Fuming busses belching black diesel;

Intertwining mass of cars and maneuvering motorscooters;

One carries a family of five:

Father driving with girl in front basket,

Behind him a brother in front of the mother,

Another child strapped to ma's back.

Some riders wear surgeons' masks

To filter the heaviest particles

Of fetid air.

Sometimes the mad machinery

Brushes your skin as it rushes past;

One close call you smell dead meat in the streets.

Horns bleat. Hearts thump.

Taxis dart and swerve;

One topples an old woman's scooter;

Her foot looks broken,

No "senior citizens"

On the streets of Taiwan.

*

Mangy, scabby animals,

Dodging cars and sniffing out

Meager crumbs of existence,

Sorely need Bodhisattvas

To lick their festering wounds.

One cur lifts its leg and pisses on a basket of tomatoes for sale.

Dog s h i t everywhere on the streets liquefies in rain;

Red pools of betel nut spittle;

Endless litter; endless litter...

*

We stand out like white sheep:

Hawaiian shirts,

Jansport backpacks,

Birkenstocks

Light-haired pony tails.

"Aloha" says a young Mormon "elder"

Cycling past me on his mission to convert the natives.

He thinks I look ridiculous.

The few white foreigners on the street,

Often pretend not to notice each other;

We sense our absurdity but all look like movie stars.

I'm Kevin Bacon;

Dan is Paul Newman;

Matt is Bruce Willis (when he cuts his hair).

Locals stare--A "foreigner" someone mutters in Mandarin,

Others more specific: "American"

How they can tell I'm afraid to guess.

Could it be our stench of Occidental arrogance?

Eager youths sometimes greet us:

"Hello. Where you from? Merry Christmas. Happy New Year," one says.

It's July.

He wears long sleeves, while I'm dripping with sweat.

"Happy birthday," I tell him. "Have a nice day."

*

Buy and sell, Buy and sell.

The endless cycle of commerce:

Infinite food stalls and family storefronts;

Squawking chickens losing their necks on chopping blocks,

Their black feet point heavenward;

Organs hanging from meat hooks;

Dangling entrails;

Pigs' heads staring blindly at Buddhist temples,

Where ghost money ash floats from ornate furnaces, and

Incense wafts serenely,

Honoring ancestors.

*

Buy and sell, buy and sell...

Old women in bamboo hats

Balancing vegetables on shoulder poles,

Straight and strong like scales of justice;

They need no license here to sell their goods,

And few are homeless;

Beggars here lack arms and legs,

Are covered in tumors or pustules.

They do not clean your windshields.

They do not "work for food."

*

Tired and smoke-choked and seeking reprieve,

I ride a rattling bus to the beach at Kuan Yin--

Village of Buddha's compassion;

A temple there honors her:

Ong Ma Nee Bei Mee Hong

From the temple a long, hot walk to the water,

Where I pass two soldiers carrying automatic weapons;

"I'm visiting the beach," I tell them

In mangled Mandarin.

Others with binoculars watch from coastal towers lining the shore;

Military radios scratch the solitude.

As I wade the warm waters

Collecting coral and shells,

Observing concrete fortifications from the Second World War,

I imagine soldiers crouched with rifle barrels

Jutting from the narrow cement slits,

Awaiting impending invasion.

*

As I leave the beach,

Vaguely thinking of Taiwan's streets,

I see the huge white figure of Kuan Yin,

Palms upturned,

Arms outstretched,

Serenely gazing over the Taiwan Strait,

Facing China.

(Article changed on October 30, 2016 at 18:58)

(Article changed on October 31, 2016 at 06:21)

(Article changed on October 31, 2016 at 06:28)

Authors Website: http://theswillbucket.com

Authors Bio:

teacher and reporter