POEM 025/100

July 20, 2012

One leg drags

in filthy, torn pants

fingers tremble when not balled into a fist

his mouth berates the empty air


I think,

this is probably one of his better days

and write this in my notebook

so avoiding eye contact

as he briefly hovers in front of me

like steam


My absurdly hot Americano

in its thin paper cup

has burnt my fingertips


May 1, 2009

» I’ve been trying to come up with a clever comment on Human Swine Influenza, or H1N1 in text-speak, for a few days. It hasn’t come to me. All I’ve noticed a slight heaviness in my lung area and a vague fevery spaceyness to my head area. But I think this is merely due to smog and the fact the office AC hasn’t kicked in for the season. I also blame the stagnant heat on the 19th floor for the lack of ideas. I do wish, however, that Human Swine Influenza turned infected people into porcine zombies. But then, I gues McDonald’s and Starbucks already have that covered.

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