Soyos Shorts

Take his ticket – his little book of poems, his teeth are a fine cut, snap them out one by one hallelujah! Money can always be made from misery. Tell the tooth fairy she’s going out of business, that will teach him to believe in beneficent powers. Rows of bald men in suits of meat nod. they are steadily crusting over with disbelief. Let us crouch in the corner of his youthful ear and whisper our dirty tales, our sordid ditties of mental illness and extramarital affairs accompanied only by the cadences of the snake’s bodily violence. Dreams should be harboured by no child. There is nowhere to hide from the cynics’ sour breath. Mark his tongue, that flapping flesh of syntax, the great conductor of ego and inaccuracies uttered by each idiot – is sprouting, wart –like with madness. Come, let it swallow silence. Let it swallow the memories of each year. Let is speak of the future no more. Let it remain unsatisfied by gin and chocolate cake. He doesn’t know that there is no substitute for a

The years raced by until I found myself standing on a street corner in China. I was in Xi’an, and I was in my wife’s old neighborhood. We lived in her tiny studio—a few narrow rooms, linoleum floors, hot pot and range, no oven or fridge. A plastic seat on the toilet so frangible, I broke it twice by sitting down. Twenty-first century living in yesterday’s mainland. An authentic experience in the world.                But I was out for a stroll. This is what I loved to do—walk and look around. It was hot, but the neighborhood was out and about. A crowd stood alone or congregated on every corner. Laolao and Yeye claimed every spot on rusty metal benches shaded by trees. Many more people walked in the sun. They had umbrellas; I did not.                In ten minutes, I strode around the corner and up the block. The sun’s bright rays seared my retinas. The heat beat against the pavement and splashed up against my cheeks and ears. You could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Throw it on fried ri