the churning of the ocean of milk
south of the ruins of angkor wat
where nature long ago struck back at mankind
a fat white man wrings the heat from his t-shirt
while a 14 year old girl paces next to him
swollen with new life and heavy with shame
the roots spread through her temple
at night he dines in hotel bars
sweats in to his cold beer
while his bride lies in a darkened room
tears long ago turned to sand
she waits for the kick of her child
her arms bruised like the bananas she sold
how he had approached her one evening as she traipsed home
promising a new life
how quickly she had dumped her wares
succumbed to his charm
and the trees burst through angkor wat
reclaiming the land of her ancestors
the creeping march of nature crumbles the ancient rock
her waters broke in silence
two lives lost that night
as the sun set on baphuon
a man approaches a child on the street
his t-shirt yellow with sweat.
Stu Buck
Fri 16th Sep 2016 11:46
yes it was difficult to write but i find those are the best kind of poems really. i used to work with a guy that went to cambodia once a year, spent a month there and came back. he was a photographer, out there for the ruins and the architecture. the age of consent in cambodia is 15 but he used to tell me about girls as young as 11 or 12 who were picked up from the side of the road daily. these tourists were able to live in hotels for a crazily cheap price, take whoever they wanted back to the rooms and no one blinked an eye. it may have changed now, this was 15 years ago, but i doubt it.