In Phnom Penh,
French colonialism rots black,
its constructs yellow mummies beneath
of People's Party posters.
Buddhists in the park sell kites
like paneled orchids,
burn incense that curls out red into white like fingers forever,
buy birds out of iron jaw cages to free.
Men in uniforms and trucks,
lots of saying,
and nothing to be said,
blare by like elephants
to ensure that a sham runs smoothly.