The sun was searing in Hanoi

The street was a river of motorbikes

A tired foreigner limped along the sidewalk

A motorbike sidled, its burly driver spoke in local language   

Like “Come… back ride”,

The Foreigner clasped his hands in thanks, hopping in for the ride

The workplace was a war council

Vibrating with tension

 “Get it done… and fast”, the supervisor commanded

Project presentation to the client was about to begin

The young hard-pressed translator muttered

“I’m doing this for mother… I want her to stop working at fifty-five”

The foreigner stood on the sidewalk

Under the drizzle of Hanoi

His contracted motorbike has not come

A lottery ticket seller under a huge umbrella

Glanced at his shaking legs and weary face

Smiled and pointed to a plastic stool by her side

The downpour was heavy in Hanoi

As the foreigner stood and waited

A young lady opened an umbrella above his head

As the motorbike driver unfolded a plastic raincoat over him

“Take care… the road is slippery” said the lady

As the motorbike started

The foreigner went inside a Christian church

Amazed that there is one in Hanoi

Knelt at the pew beside two old women

Praying in local language

In tones like his grandmother’s

Our Father and Hail Mary