A Rich Stranger ~ Sean Wai Keung

A rich stranger place

would’ve been good for him

like an apple for breakfast

every morning.


Poetry may have helped

too, but he could never

quite get the rhythm

right. He tried instead

exercise, plastic surgery,


getting drunk with me

in the lobbies of

expensive hotels. He

bought all the drinks:

the finest cognac


pints of beer, a whisky chaser

or two to finish off

our sentences.


He knew more about life

than I did. He sensed

I shadowed life

and didn’t belong there

and didn’t belong where

he belonged.


I couldn’t think of a better way

to show my appreciation

to him those nights.


So I often left to find

a new world in someone else.

Somewhere else.

Somewhere less

rich, less strange, less

less, less.


I think he told me his

name once but

I don’t remember.


His face staring into

the crystal perspiring glass

was the last thing

I saw.


currently lives in Norwich, England. Multiple winner of Farrago Poetry Slam, past Editor of Lunar Poetry magazine and Poetry Weekly magazine as well as co-founder of Unmade Bed.

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