Festival

 

(for Edwin Thumboo)

 

I sizzle to your poems –

 

last seen in Singapore

I duck into a hole in the wall café

 

only a short walk up Queen Street

where in styrofoam containers

 

hot and spicy prawns

have made it here

 

all the way from

the coconut palm coast of southern India.

 

Is this where poems come knocking?

As the kitchen door swings open

 

I glimpse an

old man

 

subterranean and

beat

 

amid his world of woks and hard working pans.

 

© Bob Orr  2015