Every Friday, 1 artist/painter/poet/writer, letting their work speak for itself.
We eat the take out dim sum in the public part of the Sun Yat garden.
It’s still hot after the walk from Gain Wah’s only because of the weather.
You have me fooled into believing you’ve forgotten my birthday,
Until you produce the package from your bag.
You said nothing after we woke up and all through breakfast
And when you said goodbye when you left for work.
You hadn’t even asked why I’d taken the extra day off.
I was convinced and your trick has worked.
My heart melts that you’ve remembered that I am 4 million years older than you today.
It says so on the card you give me, that I open before the present.
You’ve put loads of kisses, because you kiss me a lot, I guess.
I love the way you are constantly excited about everything.
I love the way I am one constant in your constantly shifting lust for the new.
I am swept along in your torrent, you keep me feeling young.
Maybe, I’ll live forever and be the last man.
I carefully unwrap the tissue paper from the box,
Open the lid and look in on the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,
(present company excepted)
An ancient daisy, perfectly preserved in amber the size of a quail’s egg.
I wrap you in my arms and kiss you, my hand entangled in your hair.
We finish our lunch and drink our take out tea, now cooling.
We put on our sunglasses as we exit the shade in the burning midday.
I walk with you hand in hand towards your office.
We pause to look at the basket full of dried lizards stretched out on bamboo sticks.
The window full of gold, plastic shiny Buddhas, waving almost in unison.
The shop full of jars of different kinds of tea.
As we part you give me the list of all the things you’ll need tonight
When you bake me a cake.
I’ll be making dinner, though, because I’m the cook and you’re the baker.
I know your excitement this past week has been fuelled by nervousness
At the thought of meeting my sons tomorrow
Their flight arrives at eleven, so not an early start for us.
But I’ll know you will want to stay in the apartment until they arrive
Rather than come to the airport.
I know they will love you, how could they not?
They wouldn’t have come if they’d had a problem with this,
Despite wanting to see the place and hang out with me.
They won’t want to leave, when the time comes.
You have that effect on people.
If you want to find out more about Tom and his poetry you can do so here:
Do get in touch via the Comment box or @ArtiPeep if you would like to be showcased. You’d be welcomed!