Immigrant
Hockey is being played either we are here or not.
we chant and scream the name of the captain, as if
our mothers are pushing and having us born again on a plane
heading to the west coast.
Skillful players make walls of gold nuggets a season,
and they sail boats in the off-season, accompanied
by those cute girls. He shots and he scores!
As the black puck slithers upon the ice and passes
Beyond the goal line, we celebrate with our hands in the air.
We are fathers now, but the referees ruled "no goal" for
the color of the puck is brown. This was what the immigration
officers whispered into our ears as well, "the color of your eye
Is brown," and to be honest with you, it's okay as long as our hair
is black. A full moon hung high in the sky.
as we trail the silvery reflection of the steel rails with our frozen hands
listening to the howling train --
Howling train / beyond the lofty cliff / two lines of Canadian geese / flying east
we can't swim across the Pacific Ocean / neither can the train
As I stare at the nightly sky, smoke billows from the chimney.
and this white guy, George, is my neighbor. Looks like he is making
stir-fry tonight.
加拿大移民
无论我们在场与否，冰上曲棍球始终是加拿大国技。
我们狂热地欢呼甚至喊叫队长的名字，犹如
临盆在即的母亲登上一辆飞住西岸的客机
重新把我们生下来。
出色的球员年薪如以金砖搭砌而成的围墙。
在漂亮的女郎陪同下他们
扬帆出海。「他──射球破门！」
黑色的塑胶球在冰上滑行，越过守门员，
然後我们高举双手热烈庆祝。
我们已经是新一代的父亲了，然而球证判决进球不合法，
理由是球的颜色变为棕色；移民官也是这样在我们的
耳边嗫嚅：「你瞳孔的颜色
是棕色。」老实告诉你，我不太在意，只要我们的头发
是黑色便行。这个晚上有圆月高挂
我们跟踪路轨上银灰色的微光，我们的手
聆听火车的哀号──
火车的哀号／在悬崖之外／有两行雁鸟／向东
我们无法横越广阔的太平洋／火车也无法
在这个黑沈沈的夜晚，丝丝的轻烟从烟囱溢出
那个名叫佐冶的老外是我的邻居，看来他在弄点
中国小炒作为晚餐。
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