Debtfor Fr Brian Gore
The fabric of rain
beats a drum over us
the Orchard Road plaza has changed
& we haven't & smoke outside the rails
A bar girl dances against the night's
ballet of downpour
cigarettes at the boundary of good taste
we wait & are surprised
when we shouldn't be
O grand familiar clouds
that almost cover us
we retreat to the rooms of ourselves
Day break tropic light
a washed out sky air con rumble
storm sky against concrete
far too many television channels to watch
On the flight out of Manila
clouds sculpt prancing herds
& then the long drive south
to a home as we know it
back to a sound of almost rain
The evening's gecko chatter
along the wall
the dawn is still
here the tax idles in the rising light
They must pay back the debt
The years have done him well
the body politic
as we open more beer
& strike a match against the future
We arrive at school
our stomachs rattle
always snacking five times a day
Over the estuary we pull apart crabs
cold beer dreaming we sip water
hand catch milk fish through slats of bamboo
We plant mangrove seedlings
& stake then to a future
flat tidal lands stretch to the ocean
fish & prawn traps a skyline of commerce
On the walk back to school
one of the students introduces me to her mother
as we pass her headstone in the cemetery
& I am tearful when we reach the gate
Later in the rebuilt Su-ay market Rose sells me beer & rhum
& I am home in the giggling night
What food do I look like?
I tell the student, delicious
& make to bite his arm
At the elementary school it's a bagful of games
in the early chill of the morning
Saint Theresa's Feast Day & an offertory of candles
I save one for an absent student & order some flowers
A drop kick away from the hurley burley
of the school yard playing field
a funeral of a young man takes place
we gather in our silences
look up towards the sky
retrieve the ball from over the boundary
I stake a claim to the scrape of the coconut broom
& the geckos dash upwards
At the dam we become fish
& later feast on rambutan & lychee
so many we can keep our feet on the ground
We bring home what we don't eat
prepare a supper of leftovers
rhum & memory a heartbeat of age
Bush coffee & at Batang Beach we leave our weapons at the gate
& another feast for Saint Theresa
We air the rooms where we have slept
dust off our imaginations
in the afternoon it rains as the students
rush through malls searching for gifts
on tricycles