Hong Kong

Hong Kong, why do I love you?
Why do you feel like home?

Breathing your dirty air.

Waiting out black rain,
in a coffin apartment.

Scammed, again,
in the Ladies’ Market.

Spotting, maybe,
the last pink dolphin.

Why?

Is it your peculiar aesthetic?

The unique sense of freedom,
and a vaguely entrepreneurial ethic?

Civically engaged denizens,
fighting a losing battle?

Milk tea cups’ rattle?

Perhaps there’s no rational answer.
Just an indescribable feeling.