Motorbikes and scooters
rough miles in the city,
a grinning vice of ever sound.

Women bearing baskets
of strange coloured fruits.
And war heroes carrying
bundles of fake t-shirts
to market.

Slip-slap, slip-slap
the sound of the sandaled
street walkers.
Holding their babies
and selling cheap fans,
made in China.

Young girls crushed with eyeliner,
smile as I pass.
And stray cats strut their tails
in acts of defiance.

A lone saxophonist plays
in a back ally
“I think is Coltrane”
Said the tourist
and smiled anyway.

So I listened to the solo,
invading the city.
Life is on the street in Hanoi.