Below the Big Buddha I took shade
like an aged cat
ready to refute contact
as you took the significant steps
to stand under the god
Here
stroked only by thick leaves
which weighed on the near rotten pagoda
I could hide from the sun
and the burn of phone lenses
on these tourist attractions
Speingle holy water with monk
your life for good luck
Take off your shoes
With my stick and stomach
topped by a beer brand hat
I look like the visitors
who buy genuine crap
You took in the views
which I imagined
as the sun was shadow cut for less than seconds
by the landing flightpath of another jet
In this holy place there are bins and litter
the common markers of men
alongside the spirits which were captured
in the name of this mess
The monk chants
the same intonation as football scores
there must be more than this.