SELECTED POEMS

96

When the Chinese uncle 
with his cart of burning sand 
shouted chestnuts 
instead of gao luck
something inside me shrivelled 
to make way for footsteps 
freshly fallen after rain, 
or a tongue 
fallen by the wayside.

by Loh Guan Liang
from Bitter Punch (2016)

 

TRACK CHANGES: “TRANSPARENT STRANGERS AGAIN” >