Beijing Morning

The dragon awakes.  Stretching, 
with a rattle of scales, he yawns. 
The sun, rising 
in the east, is red.*

At seven in the morning 
the Imperial City is alive 
beneath the lifting night shroud 
of coal smoke 
Japanese cars have replaced 
ten million bicycles.

The stone lions keep watch 
over Tien-an-min; 
in their snarls, surprise 
at Chang’An traffic. 
The masses sport Gucci, 
Dior, where once blue ruled. 
Hot breads, tea, and tai chi 
still prevail.

In the Western Hills 
the Buddhas watch, bells tinkling, 
a delayed Industrial Revolution 
struggling, growing.

In the compounds and factories 
where once loudspeakers preached 
Party lines, headlines in low fidelity, 
CD stereos play. 
MTV replaces the Red Book.
Children march in day care centres:
sailing the educational seas 
no longer depends on the Helmsman.*

The dragon, 
eyes weak with sleep, 
cannot yet see beyond his lair. 
Hunger rumbles in his vitals, 
and soon he must roam 
beyond his hills. 


* In the 1960s and early 70s, two of the songs heard most frequently over public loudspeakers throughout China were The East Is Red, and, Sailing the Seas Depends on the Helmsman (a reference, of course, to Chairman Mao).  jdf