Reading Tu Fu late at night
It’s nearly midnight
the family asleep
Christmas night
I’m reading Tu Fu’s poem
“Hundred Worries Gathering Chant”
and sipping whisky.
Suddenly an explosion
at the front door.
I run outside
without glasses
to watch a firecracker
launch in flashes of red and blue
above an empty street
as I scan for kids.
Awoken, my wife calls me in
my daughter and cat
now up. They go back
to bed as I try to pick up
where I left off.
The next poem is titled
“Autumn Wind Ravaging Thatch House Song”
and Tu Fu rages at a band of youths
from the south village
stealing his rooftop thatch
blown off in the wind.
At fifty Tu Fu is too old to give chase
and the kids disappear in the bamboo.
I too am fifty and sip my whisky
while Tu Fu leans on his cane and sighs.