Do not ask why Burma sits more easily on the tongue

than Myanmar because colonial renaming by despots is not

what it seems, not inclusive of minorities, not respectful

when decisions are not made by referendum, but decree.

Do not ask if November elections are exciting because

people line up at schools in untold numbers to say

no more, even though they know the woman they call

Mother will never be allowed to rule in her own right.

Do not ask if we are having a good time because every day

we measure our depth of privilege against the deprivation

of others, watch children hawk postcards to buy an education,

engineers drive taxis as there is no other paid work.

Do not ask if we like the food because we spend days

clinging to our beds, sinks, toilet floors poisoned by foreign

bacteria hiding in tea leaf salad, fish mohinga, simple rice

and so we learn to eat without pleasure, do no harm.

Do not ask if people are happy because even in captivity

they have hope, take a long view of history, build airlines,

guide tourists, fill rice bowls for monks and talk of cronies

as the military sell off jade, oil, teak and pocket profits.

Do not ask if the country is beautiful because Inle Lake

waterways startle, hydroponic markets burst with produce,

four thousand temples light up Bagan, and in the crumbling

colonial grandeur of Yangon, eight thousand taxis roar.

Do not ask why we sip cocktails at the Strand. Perhaps

we are touched by the grace of Buddha. Perhaps we are

touched by a people aching to make democracy emerge,

by the flash of a firefly at nightfall, luminous, brief.

Shortlist, Newcastle Poetry Prize, 2017

The Crows in town: Newcastle Poetry Prize Anthology 2017, p 86