The Road Into Hoi An

it's broken, the tarmac's crooked, and it's full of gaping mouths, and you have to dodge them, to save your wheels, and God!...Jesus! the stink of fly-blown fish hits you like an honest politician; in the nose and mouth: and you want to parachute away, into the gaping mouths and your dad's best memories and the stories he told; then relief comes, in about a half-mile down the road; and you pass the tall palms and green feminine rice fields, which like a girl, smell good; and if you want, you can touch and fondle them, and they won't slap you or make you feel small, or say "honey, let's have a ball!" so your'e free to carry on, into town; and you say cheerio to the feminine fields and gaping mouths, as they lick you with their thousand country tongues: and then you hit the city; and everything changes.