As the bus crosses Guangzhou Bridge,
I glance at the pregnant woman beside me
and the dead river outside the window.
A cleaner fishes the floating
garbage from the river,
like giving a facelift to a dead.
They’re building Italian style architecture in the north of the city.
They’re planting African palm trees in the south of the city.
Lawns are also ready, their seeds from Germany.
What a city.
Eight million people dream the same dream:
Money, money, money!
Yet money is only
rubbed on their dead life.
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