vientiane

she, with a complexion

somewhere between honey and old ivory,
a french vanilla shade

wishes that it was lighter, whiter.

we, freckled and speckled,

bearing the damage of age and sun

are astonished. that skin so flawless

could be something to be rejected.

easy to think that it's just another aspect

of desire to acquire the goods,

the cars and clothes,

the dazzle that gleams

from every screen and billboard.

along the waterfront plaza

that flanks the mekong,

frayed and faded

hammer and sickle flags flap

limply in the lazy breeze.

the global trekkers, sweating
and red-faced in the heat

wander up the streets

from bar to guest house

seeking the cheap exotica,

the party treats made possible

where some people eek a living

on a dollar or two a day.

five story shopping malls

have elbowed the old markets aside,

but who am i to decry their ambition

to climb aboard modernity's ride,

is that just another version

of colonial pride? 

a paternalistic arrogance,

permitting me to patronize?

perhaps. but something sacred

is being swept away. the temples

still remain, surrounded by the edifices

of banks and ministries, the emporiums

of generic goods.

i think that's why we come here,

to see what still remains:

the crumbling french colonial buildings

and the mekong flowing strong,

before the foreign funded

hydroelectric powerplants

sap its chocolate colored spine.

vientiane, twice sacked and burned

by neighboring siam, a capitol of capital

where money buys a girlfriend,

a factory, a mine. still as pretty as pale honey

or old ivory, but yearning to be white.