Street Art: Bangkok text

Che is staring at my face, the politics written in cheap, runny ink. Black berets and NWA, Soviets, Nazis, commies, and police. Rabbits and retro train cars glued up in children’s punch-on pixels, the afternoon on Khao San Road.

Rain drops drip down back alleys loaded in sticker secrets, street vendors hawk under signatures of touring and local bandits, and on occasion break into full painted tags. The red box reads Bangkok and Other Places for a stack of postcards prepared in the pack.

A rasta bar red green yellows, all familiar tropes. Tells financial tales: In God We Trust, Everything Else, Pay Cash. Pull out the rest of it and slap it down on books to read in other cities, replacement pairs of jeans.

Load onto the airport bus and get prepared for the Other Place.

Back alley boredom

In the final hour, my comrades took off on a flight to another part of the country. They to the trees of their eco pit stop, I to troll the streets that had so quickly become familiar. Down those skinny alleys I found children to play with, art to stare at, and clothing for my back.

The trip was had.

Elephant Eyelashes

We walked out the wooden plank and jumped onto the hefty grey abyss. Taylor’s feet disappeared behind floppy ears as she straddled her neck. I climbed on next, holding on between a plastic bar and deeply wrinkled flesh.

Down between sets of trees we descended to the river. Our elephant walked right in and let us down. The trainer handed over brushes for the bath. We scrubbed roughly on the belly and underneath the ears.

They let us climb back on and stood up tall, telling us the animal couldn’t feel a thing. She pulled us up and down and dropped us in the water, spraying thick mist with her trunk.

And before the ride was over, we pushed our bodies into the mighty grayness for one last mammoth hug.