On Passing Through Lion Rock Tunnel

I am on a bus
the chug chug of air conditioners
is familiar, a ritual observed
only in the morning
we mute the lion, by
driving down his tongue into a halo
of strip lights, blinking into
this semicircle hewn from
the rockface
passing through the mountain
momentary darkness and I am
idle, lolling, unfocusing
on the grey road and the hum of traffic
the vibrating line is
yellowy and leonine

I could not tell you how many times
I have travelled this tunnel
tuning out when the signal fades on another unremarkable day
there is red on the road,
only a second’s worth of something
meaty, bloodied
bulky. It’s gone
What was it? I can see it still,
some unfortunate, desperate animal
hit metal in the lion’s mouth
I think. I blink
I am sick, and not from roadkill;
instead the stickiness of another memory
heaving Mong Kok streets and police and police
and yellow tape. Plastic lion mane
a red screen and no-one is looking but me
at the body

it’s a familiar story. We know what
the ambulances are for-
I sit back, waiting for natural light
tunnel’s end. Journey’s end
Lion Rock roars behind us
and in my mind’s eye, the meat
soaking red into the road
may not
be animal, after all.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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