Why I disagree with the statement: “Americans value education in a way no other culture does”
The cool boys
always have the cool boy names- the triple threat
being gender ambiguous (Camden), meant to be a last
name (Smith) and/or some creative play on
tradition, a form of rebellion against status that
nevertheless seeps through (CJ).
His
Ray-Bans absorb the heat off the bold red brick.
The sun moistens his heavy neck, weighed down by
a nonchalantly strewn tie. It is an uncomfortable
act. Leaking cologne (Marc Jacobs?), torn tweed
vest (90s GAP no doubt) -- Not to worry though, the
loafers come from his dad, a vintage homage to prep
school blood penetrating generations, nobleizing
his tattered socks.
» Keep reading
By Ali Hamden
I saw some footage of the war today.
I feel the war could use a metaphor
Perhaps that man sitting by the street
without a friend
(I suppose you could
Count unemployment, but that’s no good
For sharing a smoke or two).
His final words are tucked into his right pocket,
He thinks: “Perhaps today I will be captured by a rocket.”
The media would play him as a resilient saint who
Is a sign of good winds coming; “Yes!” they shout,
“Our crusade is bearing fruit!” as the mortars fall about.
No, there can be no stories
We cannot depend
on forged glories.
“Good wind” just bids the sand make haste.
It fills you with its taste
So you will even feel how grandiose
The very words that those
Reporters chose to say.
» Keep reading
By Shin Yu Pai
for Tim Yu
You buy stalks
of roasted
sugarcane
in the night market
blackened over
charcoal
ends protruding past the grill.
A vendor chews betel nut;
red saliva stains
the pavement.
His rusted machete blade
pares back the hardened shell
to white pulp and flesh.
Guava and carambola -
fruit we share in public
speared with toothpicks
dusted with crushed powder,
dried plum.
You say sugarcane
is meant to be eaten
in the privacy of one's own room.
» More Poems by Shin Yu Pai
