city spring.

backpacked tourists traipse down the Terrace
golden camels, journeying, sucking on water bottles.
the sun throws itself off the glass towers
and they speak in tongues
as I guess which ones.

i wait for three buses that do not come,
buy lychees in cans and
prove who i am to the video shop girl.
murmuring down the aisles of discs
i speak in tongues,
guess which ones.