Forgetting

A poem which reflects on the author's experience at a food court in Singapore.

I left feeling absolutely destroyed.

She stared at me helplessly with drool drooping from her chin

teasing the hem of her green collared shirt

Lips left in a permanent squiggle.

Mouth agape.

Eyes pleading, Blank sorrow was what gripped me

It was what gripped my heart and bunched it up

Ready to tear and rip what was left inside of me

But after what happened next made me think

maybe what lay beneath my ribs was already empty

I had 2 dollars in my pocket and the guy sitting with his skinny eyecandy avoiding eyecontact probably had more

But that was not the point.

The point was that i could only smile guiltily back

The point was that i could only shake my head to her open palm

The point was that I dug through my bag

but didn’t thrust dollars out

The point was that I didn’t reach out to her

The point was that nobody bothered

The couples sitting at the table

All they could think about was their dalliance

The physical desires

The pecks on the cheeks, stroke of the forearm, exchange of saliva

and who knows what else.

They had waved their palms in a slow dance as a signal for her to move on

The guy had frowned, sighed indifferently

The girl had pinched her nose,

waving the air with her other arm, trying to forget.

So prevalent So present and Yet invisible

So invisibly visible.

What a sick but beautiful contorted oxymoron

I rocked out of my seat and took the next escalator up

and threw away my food

because I was sick to the core.

Because life is just a rambunctious mess.

Just a turn and spin machine in the casino

rows and columns of guess and checks

One flip away from poverty or wealth

I wonder…

How far was I then from being her?

My mind twirls as I think how to calculate this

because I want to calculate this.

I want to understand how I have lived for 8 years in a perfectly nice condo

adorned with gold and white accents

fur coats, chunky gold necklaces

right. next. to the slums with dirt coated fruit carts

and measly straw hats.

Too heartbroken to turn our cheeks and too selfish to act

I guess that’s how the world operates

Just keep your head down so you convey sympathy

and wave your fingers to convey you cannot help.

“I’m sorry. I want to but I can’t. “