The Adventures of John and Sleazy Nancy

The conference had ended.
We quickly said goodbye to the office colleagues,
flagged down two different taxis

towards the same destination.
The coast was clear.
I knocked on the door.
Our password contained no letters or numerals;
simple, effective: the laughter of secret sharers.
I entered, with a sense of mission.

The air-conditioning wasn’t working, said the proprietor,
but you will find it very comfortable --
there was boiled water in the corridor, his daughters slept
in the corridor outside the room, in case one needed anything
and would you please be back by 10pm, so the caretaker can lock up?
At the one-star motel in a hutong
that smelt like cats’ piss,
Mr Woo, 56, distinguished contact, convenient
family friend, dropped off
a mysterious, important envelope
and left in a chauffeured BMW. The hotel staff
eyed us with suspicion, and handed us
the white, message with their calloused, trembling hands.
In truth, it was diarrhoea medicine.

We told them we would stay just one night,
but ended up staying at Baofang for 5 nights,
too long for errant one-night lovers,
too short to be involved with matters of consequence.
What business did we have in China? asked the proprietor.

We were spending the summer
pretending to be spies.
In truth, we also were in China
to fall in love. Soon the film would be be completed.
Then I would replay it again and again
to its end, and then again,
and again, till in my mind,
those days became a roll of film.