The Flood, And The Old Thai Monk

About 4 years ago,
I was caught
in a flood in southern Thailand
with 100s of Thai kids,
dozens of Thai teachers,
and 2 young white teachers
like myself

rain, rain, and rain

The whole first floor
of the school complex
was covered in muddy red water

Buddha statues surrounding it
had been built freakishly high
for just this reason:
in every direction,
the grey stone sage
was meditating,
dry, pleasant and serene

It was cold
and there were few coats,
no blankets;
but we whites had food,
plenty of strong Thai beer,
and a joint

It was one cold night,
with the cold thought
in my mind
that the rain didn't have to stop,
that there were
only two unflooded levels,
a lot of people
and only so much food

But in the morning,
the rain had stopped,
and men in boats
had come with lots of food

The Thai teachers
were guiding their children
in the song:
"rain, rain, go away
come again another day,"
and, invited,
I wildly took the lead:
waving a plastic rain cloud
and a plastic sun

Hours later,
they took us visiting teachers
out on motor-boats,
then in the back of trucks
to a warm, dry city
with a bus-stop

Waiting for the bus,
I had a large egg breakfast
and a Thai beer
with a dragon on it

At the bus-stop,
I saw a truly ancient monk
(his eyes mostly white,)
accompanied by two much younger,
all in bright orange cloaks;
I approached them politely.
The old monk returned my hello
("Sa-wat-dee Krab")
and, without further ado,
set about massaging my arms
or something that appeared so
at its superficial level

I offered the three money
(quite a bit,)
but the young monk said
that there was a rule
that money could only be taken
at a temple...
and that this old one
was one of those
who obeyed it

Then the old monk
produced his own money
and sent the young one
into a store across the street...
for a Pepsi and cigarettes
as it turned out

In my mind's eye
I saw those serene stone Buddhas
well above the water,
but I didn't seek out a Bodhii Tree

I went to the ocean
and some pretty young bar-girls
I knew.
Then, I came back to the U.S.A.
and spent time in libraries,
bars, forests, psych wards,
fancy restaurants,
and even jails

rain, rain, and rain
"old age, suffering, and death"
rain, rain, and rain
"jails, institutions, and death"

And sometimes the rain goes on
and engulfs the Buddhas,
and even they don't look
perfect or invincible
up to the chest
in muddy water...
and to the open mind
it becomes obvious
that they're only statues...
or at least that they
can't stop or make the rain

Now, odds are,
that ancient monk is dead
(silicon to ashes,
rust to dust)
and the two of us
have more in common;
I just sent a friend to the store
to get me some Pepsis,
but I didn't want any cigarettes

Sometimes,
I think that
"football season is over," (Hu.S.T.)
but other times I don't

Thank you
for reading my statue