Typhoon Season

Bangkok, Thailand

I brace myself for a flood.
The mangy dogs and fussy chickens
have scattered, abandoning
their reign of the streets.
Smoke from roasting pork skewers
stays trapped under a tarp roof.
Time for the plastic ponchos
and worn-out Crocs.

Chan bpai Rongmoo —
Take me to the school, Flat 23/24.
20 baht: less than a dollar.
There is nothing like riding
on the back of a motorbike, especially
in the rain. Eighteen wheelers fly by,
and I pretend to be fearless.

Alley one, alley two, turn down
Alley three. Dtrong bpai — go straight.
And there it is: a wall of brown water,
A bobbing tire, a Pringles can,
an umbrella with twisted spines.

Kindergarteners cluster behind the
fence, their small fingers poking through.
Teacher, swim! I think of the airport sign:
Welcome to the Land of Smiles.
I roll up my pant legs and wade to the gate.