Treasure Hunt

I've got a room in Bangkok that's so 007 that there's probably a cobra waiting in the closet, and when I look in the mirror that takes up the whole wall I see, in nice, brown eyes, a nineteen-year-old Okie boy who just joined the Navy in search of worth in these places. I found worth the other day watching children play in the killing fields. I thought, once, that worth was in the crotches of a dozen whores but the only worth was mine lessened. Revisiting these far away, humid places among ancient temples guarded by the likes of Naga and a truck-load of headless Budhas has given me clues to where the gold is only to have them stolen by the memory of a man's arm shot off in Panama. I have one more place to check: I'll bet there's a smile on the face of a homeless man as he sleeps on the green grass of Washington Square.