Saturday, April 5, 2008

My Rooftop

There are red tiles spattered
With pink and dark paint
Perfectly set in shoddy gore
And smeared with a sludge of smooth concrete
That always looks wet on the floor.

There are clothes hung out on nylon cords
The kind of stuff no one wears
Across the harbour under a cloak of smog
Kowloon is gasping for air.

Ships sail, cars wind, and buildings sprout up like mould
I sit in the sun and drink whisky drys
Reading Henry Miller
Writing what I’m told.

KAM FUCH, SOGO and FUNG
In big blue block letters are sprayed
Directly across the fluorescent SOGO sign
Here come the Filipino maids…

They fill buckets from the hose
Or take down their clothes
I sit on the broken white lawn chairs.

Behind laundry-less lines
On Paterson Guy
In this putrid pink place
Under harsh UV rays
In my knock-off Chanels
Ah, what the hell,
I can’t think of anywhere better.

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