They've come on board their grocery baskets full
to gossip and shake off the clinging sand
from bare feet and vegetables. They pull
weeds from pale tails of beansprouts as we land.
These women then will disappear
into their lives. But now I can watch them,
the ordinariness of their day, sheer
exotica. That word's apothegm
is their sarong-wrapped squat embellished by
a wilderness of batik birds and blooms
while we, another clan in our blue Levis,
our dungaree and sneaker tribal costumes,
feed their curiosity's appetite,
our differences our mutual delight.