I looked at his darkening profile, So, you are Korean?

No, Chinese, he said

If he were the black guy last night

I’d keep talking about Kenya and Obama

How his dad used to be working in the bank whose governor

Is now the president

Or if he were the Pakistani on my way back a few hours later

From the party where Nathan’s mouth constantly returned

To oneness, a line, or a cut

I’d probably ask the question I didn’t end up asking:

Why you look so white and like one of the hip hop guys in America?

Or if he were the white guy we’d probably plunge along the line

Of cities when he said, Oh, I wouldn’t live in Melbourne or Sydney

Not if you pay me! Here in Canberra

You’d have to learn how to

Entertain yourself

Since he’s ‘Chinese’ our conversation naturally drifted to houses

Till we came to a stop at Novotel where I had to go upstairs

To pick my luggage and come back

Frightened, I said, Would you wait for me here or?

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said

I found myself explaining what happened in my trip to Dunedin

The cab guy drove me to the hotel but disappeared without even waiting

For the fare as I broke into a cold sweat congratulating myself

For having pulled my luggage out of the boot

He smiled his ‘Don’t be stupid’ smile as he listened

And when I came back with my three pieces

He’s still there

Afterwards when we went to the airport

He said, I still keep my Hong Kong

Passport even though I’m Australian

Citizen, you never know

You know