I just got a letter from my old Uncle Bert
and I'd like to share its tragic contents
with you here today;
but I'll edit out the ***** bits
just in case you are shocked
that an old man could still
have thoughts along those lines
or so as you don't throw up on your cornflakes
when you read them over breakfast.

"Dear Edna (he wrote to me)
It's not all that bad in the twilight nursing home
if you can bear the stale smells and moanings
of the other ****** inhabitants
and their bad breath fumes
plus the mashed food which all is pulped up
into something not unadjacent to catfood
for the sake of the toothless ones
who **** it up via a plastic tube
provided for that purpose.

"At least I take a bath once a fortnight
even though I don't like sharing it
with that Pakistani fellow Mr Ali
who always reeks of curry
and lets off stinky air from his back end
in our bath causing brownish bubbles
with a touch of follow-through vengeance.

"That reminds me of what happened
only last week when the ministry
sent some ****** health inspector round
who might have been a homosexualist
from his mincing walk I thought
and he came into our ward
you could see his beaky nose wrinkle
in distaste which was tactless we thought.

"He asked what the toiletty smell was
not knowing it's what we have to put up with day in day out
(and I know say you can't really afford
to pay extra for a clean private room for me
and not many of the others families bother either
its not as though they're the ones who suffer is it,
so let me suffer here after all I'm only your uncle
and you aren't in my last will and testament
as I never liked your mother much
fat stuck-up ***** from what I remember).

"The male nurse on duty that day
(he's the one we call Old *******
because he's so ******* bossy
and full of his ******* self)
asked all of us who had let the side down
and wet himself (or herself, it's a mixed ward
which I dont approve of as I don't want
to see anything disgusting anymore).

"Well no one owned up so Old *******
went round sniffing at everyone's rears
until he came to Mrs Jones squatting in the corner
and the he said why the **** hadn't she owned up
that she had done one in her pants today
and Mrs Jones said it had happened yesterday
or it may even have been the day before that
she couldn't really remember.

"You know, Edna, I still love miss my dear Linda
I even wish she was here
in this hellhole of a place
waiting for death's release
and not mouldering in her grave
but at least she avoids the squidgy mashed up food
which goes in one end and out the other
barely stopping for a rest halfway down."

You know, I couldn't stop laughing
for a full five minutes after I read this
as I knew, just knew, the old *******
had cut me out of his will -
well, let him rot is what I say
and that ******* about objecting
to sharing a bath with Mr Ali:
Bert's problem has always been
that he's allergic to soap and water
how well I remember the miasma
following him around his old house
before we had the **** certified.

In my small town supermarket
they have a soup bar.
It's self-serve
and they allow free samples.
But,
Free sample
means samples
as in before you buy soup
so you can try a little sip
to see if you like
the clam chowder,
beef and barley which has too much green pepper,
or squash bisque
before you fill the paper cup
or the larger one
with hot
delicious
soup.

It doesn't mean
"free soup"
to eat while walking
through the store
and not buying any soup
after the sample is gone
and then
as if to add insult
to injury,
leave the empty ramekin
with your sample tailings
on a random shelf,
sometimes even with a little plastic spoon
and a used napkin,
tucked behind a roll of paper towels
or toilet paper
or catfood
on your way out of the store
to stand in the parking lot
and complain to other petty soup thieves
about how "some people"
get stuff
for
free.

So, with doors locked
and cupboards vacated
and evening fallen
and images intertwined
in a head full of rain on
a cold Los Angeles day
I proceeded to shift rooms
once more, filling new ones,
leaving empty spaces behind.

I stood for a moment,
lost in thought, staring idly
at the cat on my former doorstep
mewing for catfood or *****,
I couldn't tell which, for
I didn't speak her language and
my ghosts were all my own.
I'm sure she would've had me
lend an ear to the tales of
all her personal hauntings,
given half a chance
and a yellow Babel fish.

Last night in Singapore,
packing an overstuffed bag with
gifts and memories,
leaving a few scattered behind
here and there,
along with scraps of discarded poetry and
some yellow-silver moonlight.
Across the hall,
newly vacant room, populated by
a wrinkled Snickers wrapper,
silhouetted against a sky
the colour of oxidized Iron.

Drowning in
a sea of photocopied class notes
and uncertain recollections of
shimmering April heat
in the ramshackle heart of
Northern India. A few stray happinesses
lodged safely in the occasional
corners of luggage not occupied
by books. Long drunken walkways
and fading bird-calls.

So, with new closets loaded
and bookshelves stuffed
and posters re-pasted
with cheap tape
on freshly painted walls
I unlocked the old doors
and checked one more time
for things left behind,
just to be certain.
Two IKEA light-bulbs in a drawer,
and some dust.
That was all.

mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mm

in a swirl of

cards, spoons, cereals,
books, brooms, thermometers,
laundry, photos, flipflops,
knives, gifts, rollerblades,
dishes, yogurts, candy,
catfood, homework, pajamas,
cartons of milk, tickets,
money, toys, sweaters,
hats, bags, sandwiches,
phones, pants, messages,
icecreams, umbrellas, lunches,
handcrafts, letters, bottles,
breakfasts, shampoos, succus
and tattarrattat

this
little bitty pretty one
is lost

i saw a little kitten he didnt have home
he had been neglected,  thrown out left to roam
i looked in to his eyes my heart began to smitten
then i fell in love with the homeless kitten

he was very thin his weight it had all gone
when i picked him up his weight was next to none
i took home with me made a tasty treat
filled a bowl with catfood now the cat could eat

now he had home and a friend in me
my little furry friend he will always be
someone who love him every single day
him and i together we will always stay