Ulaan Baatar

a poem by

James Strauss

It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day
And it’ll be ten tonight.
Mongolia bridge
no bridge at all,

Leather tents gone
night shines bright.

Chinese came and left,
Soviets the real event,
Until broken away.
Gobi sand freedom,
Islam there now,
Not much in sharing,
Not everywhere.
Buddhist’s prevail,
Caring in not caring,
God’s not their kingdom.
Saying Ulaan Baatar,
The words like a prayer,
Whatever intent.
Madonna’s lament,
Her singing words poem,
And it feels like home.
It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day,
Written Ulan Batore another way,
Way back there day,
When globes were round,
Instead of poor and rich ground,
Turning slowly but still,
Sagging with freedoms,
Most issued for pay.
It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day,
And it feels like home,
In the USA.

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