It's alright Ma, it's only karma

Glass and granite

draw in spry feet from Hondas

which swing round a token water feature

before delivering content.

This is not Japan, but there are real Japanese here,

as reassuring as

the combined lurid glare of Starbucks’

and au bon pain’s shop frontages.

The man on the mat opening doors

scrubs up just about well enough

to be able to deflect any disquieting associations

you hope not to make with his

presumed place of residence,

a room over an open sewer in Khlong Toei,

while others more or less fortunate than he

need not dissemble at all

since they’re curled up foetally

nuzzling pavement schmutz 

on the wrong side of Ratchadamnoen Klang.

I can pass by no problem, because this is not India,

but they don’t half-bow like he did.

When I return to my Belsize Park home,

I said I’d stop treading water to help disadvantaged children 

or the mentally ill 

or something,

-- that would be nice --

but if I don’t, it makes no difference really;

‘cos it’s alright Ma, it’s only karma.