Arlene Ang

For years we've paraded in different towns
with our brass. Munroe never smiles
or removes his beret in public.
Rumors say he is misogynist.
I cannot help but scratch my chin
with distrust every time his goatee
strains the sun my way. Oblivious to rudeness,
Wang always sits beside him in the bus,
falls asleep. The Chinese are seraphic
when they dream open-mouthed. Cautiously,
I draw out my camera. Munroe's dark glasses
crucify me in mid-shot; I click too late.
Wang's saliva escapes capture. Later
studying their portrait at home,
I realize they are lovers.

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