Macau Or George Town

Saudade creepers force ruins back to the land.
Up on the second floor of grandpa's house,
where feet crack beams back to
joss stick ash piles,
where Buddha beams through
the sweet smoke
of the child eye,
this true astonishment
that this is what I'm from,
Indiana Jones leaping through,
the tracking lines of a second hand copy,
magnets, filaments of piracy,
grandpa earned his VHS through
seniority.
And before the beams broke,
where lay dad and his brother and sisters,
who flipped, turned over and gave in
to the attic sticky heat,
and listened to each others' breathing,
tracked shadows in the moonlight
and heard the street sound of the police
beating the riot outside.