What seems to be three of the same man
behind the glass shopfront survey
with unmoving eyes the five-foot way:
a waxen, grey-bearded mandarin, draped
in the black robes of the Qing court,
complete with feathered hat, commands
from a dais-raised horseshoe chair; below,
his double in the same get-up stands
with his left arm outstretched in greeting,
a light, perpetual rest on no one's shoulder;
yet another, seated, to the right of them,
in a regency armchair, dressed in plus fours
and a white military tunic with a collar
stiff and high as a cast, rounds off this tableau
out of Madame Tussauds. No placard detailing
the life and times of the man, however,
but a laminated A4 with a PayNow QR code
postered on an altar laden with fruits
and garlands, and censers propping up
burning joss sticks and crumbling fingers of ash.
In front of it, someone kneels, hands clasped,
praying for luck with dice and cards,
as a priest stoops to whisper into their ear
the right words to say.