1
Across the street from where I live is a pub
where dance-hostesses backed up against
middle-age drain the excess years from their
skin with make-up and bad lighting. A murder
was committed there once, involving the knife
of a heart betrayed and heated dialogue still
heard in popular drama-serials on television.
2
This church is probably the tallest building
this corner of the street, its rooftop crucifix
like someone with arms open and ready to
hug heaven. Repainted the same colour, walls
hide their age and windows stained a deeper
shade of opacity darken now to the density
of irises, as time turns the page of an afternoon
to start on another about a dream-stained quiet.
3
In another pub, there is a karaoke-corner
with a billiard table draped in smoke but
held down by the leaning bodies of men
hitting tarnished balls into holes as women
watch the games with cigarettes holding up
their fingers, bitching in Hokkien, while
Cantonese pop songs with American beats
spill out onto the road when a door opens.
4
Nearby, two schools wait for demolishment,
their vacant fields slowly tenanted by weeds.
My mind replays ghostly episodes of soccer
matches or sleepy rows of uniformed children
waking up reluctantly to the muted recording
of their newly-orchestrated school song
nobody can ever remember the words of.
