Rita packed sandals and pens
And left the world on a Tuesday.
Into no-man's land, where
Ethnicity is rain clouds
And wealth is counted in
Hammock-swaying minutes.
Ballooning stomachs and
Heaving spider masses tramp behind
Her on a path broken by
Feet bare and worthy of a day's bread.
Into Maori candlelit concerts
And stranger's cars, void of concern
She strolls away again, and again,
From Bali love and American packaging.
Rita packs a scarf and heavy boots
And walks into the world.
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