My Mistress

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head…

William Shakespeare


My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Nor are they black or brown or green or blue,
They are like neon lights that are switched on,
When, After Dark*, the humid day is through.
If hairs be wires, her hair is very long,
Beside the Sky Train, cluttering the view.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
Instead, a face like concrete urban blight,
A voice that roars like traffic when she speaks;
And in some perfume there is more delight
Because her breath like a blocked toilet reeks.
She is no mortal woman, there’s the shock –
My mistress is the city of Bangkok!


*An allusion, and tribute, to After Dark magazine – see http://www.afterdarkasia.com


© Bangkok Byron, 2009. All rights reserved by the author.