2 mothers in a hdb playground-Arthur Yap

ah beng is so smart,
already he can watch tv and know the whole story
your kim cheong is also quite smart,
what boy is he in the exam?
this playground is not too bad, but I'm always
so worried, car here and car there.
at exam time, it's worse
because you know why?
kim cheong eats so little.
give him some complan. my ah beng was like that,
now he's different, if you give him anything
he's sure to finish it all up.
sure, sure, cheong's father buys him
vitamins but he keeps it inside his mouth
& later gives it to the cat.
i scold like mad but what for?
if I don't see it, how can I scold?
on saturday, tv showed a new type,
special for children , why don't you call
his father buy some? maybe they are better.
money's no problem, it's not that
we want to save, if we buy it
& he doesn't eat it, throwing money
into the jamban is the same.
ah beng's father spends so much,
takes out the mosaic floor & wants
to make terrazzo floor or what.
we also go new furniture, bought from diethelm
the sofa is so soft, I dare not sit, they all
sit like don't want to get up, so expensive.
nearly two thousand dollars, sure must be good.
that you can't say, my toa-soh
bought an expensive sewing machine,
after 6 months,it is already spoilt,
she took it back but.....beng,
come here, come, don't play the fool.
your tuition teacher is coming,
wah, kim cheong, now you're quite big.
come cheong, quick go home and bathe.
ah pah wants to take you chya-hong in a new motor-car

The House Of My Beloved by Alvin Pang

This is the house of my beloved.
These are her shuttered eyes, the closed door
of her lips. This is the kitchen in which I sit
silent as tables, safe as breakafsts,
reckless as a feast.

These are her limbs, rooted
in the firm ground of her body, beneath which
I cannot travel. Try as I might, I cannot grow
beyond her garden. These are the limits
of knowing, the boundaries of belief,

the margin of the world outside
my skin. Still, there are ways in;
the pulley of her breathing
the patient stairwells of touch.
I think I do not ask for much.

I think her peaks still desire
to be roofed, a carpet of affection laid
across the tarnished flooring. I'd like
to find her in the hall, throw the curtains
open, allow the night to enter.

This is the road to my beloved, arterial
highway to her centre. This is how
I come to her tonight, drifting
through the wide valley of slumber.
Arriving at her threshold, guided

by the one lamp in her bedroom
window. This is the house, and these
are the rafters of our days erected
side by side, the shiver of a door gently
parted, letting the warm light spill.


Posted by Weiquan