Once voice speaks, it will not be stilled, Vision on paper, his life's thrill. As characters form, scenes take shape, Momentum builds, surge to the tape. We are swept along in the prose, Just the effect the writer chose. Listen for silent voices too, They open our minds to the truth. From time to time I take a bus, Through Chinatown, with little fuss.
Buses slink through concrete canyons, Snaking up through Chinese bastions.
As I leave my corporate lair, I board a bus and pay my fare. With jerky jolts, it stops to fill. Passengers board with bags of food, And quickly comes a change of mood. Smells of fish, noodles, poultry too, Half cooked food and bok choy stew. Old and young Chinese riders push, To board, to sit, to hold, to crush.