“You Know You’re There”
You see the building,
a replica of one in Beijing’s Forbidden City,
you know you’re there.
After listening to white noise for up to a minute,
you feel yourself settle.
You see plaques on boulders
depicting the history and vegetation of the area.
You find a man shaving in the women’s washroom.
You realize that every stroller-pushing,
rent-raising mom is wearing a fucking sari
and you don’t mean Indian women.
You smell the heady fragrance of the bread
leaking from the seams of Panificio Rita
and you see the stunning white domes
of the Sikh Temple on top of the hill along the highway.
You can’t tell the difference between numb and empty
until (finally!) you find yourself face-down on the ground
and you see that your sweat has a red tint to it.
Eventually the pencils lose their ability to levitate and get mysteriously lost.
All the street signs have little seals painted on the left side
and a road sign warns: Congested Area.
You get there when people stop talking about it
and you can run a spoon through it.
Finally you notice guys wearing too much hair products
and a tan that only Pamela Anderson can do justice.
Enjoy your trip.