A love song to Dili at Dusk

Sometimes you’re not kind

When the scrawny dog, skinny and scabby suckles her pups and nips at them to leave her alone. Then scatters, driven away by stones thrown by annoyed kids.

And sometimes you’re not gentle

When the traffic roars past and the dust fills your nose and eyes and the relentless heat finds every gap between the shade

And sometimes you’re not quiet

When the roosters crow from 5am and join the drummers and karaoke through the wall.

Discordant, too many songs with no conductor.

But tonight, I’ll slip into something less comfortable, abandoning the t-shirt and skirt

For a dress, with buttons and sleeves and shoes with a heel

And dab the perfume on my wrists and neck

Where it’ll last in the cool instead of sliding off with the sweat.

And I’ll ride my scooter through the quiet streets to watch the sunset

Wood smoke fragrant in the air. Bar-b-ques lining the street.

And a gentle breeze against my bare skin.

I’ll watch the boys in the retreating tide, picking through the sea washed coral

And as dark falls, be surprised by the man, walking along the road, wet footed, web footed, carrying his spear and fish, the sea still drying on his skin.

The traffic lights flashing orange, flashing orange, flashing orange,

Beating through the night til dawn

welcome me home.

2 thoughts on “A love song to Dili at Dusk”

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