Memory of Singapore

A stop-over in Singapore
in a dreamy state of exhaustion -
no desire to shop
and all out of tourist energy,
glad just to saunter
and sleep and eat
in this well-ordered city
before tomorrow's flight home.
Mid saunter,
we took refuge
from the humidity
in an air-conditioned cafe;
we sat in the corner
where two banks of windows met
and gazed out
at the neat, neat street.
The whole city felt ironed
like it was ready
for a club lunch
with lime and tonic.
We silently watched
the many kinds of people...
and a gathering greyness
and a sudden wind.
Clothes flapping,
skirts held down,
umbrellas inside out
as the fat raindrops
splashed down.
That wonderful smell
of steaming concrete
oozed into my consciousness.
I sipped my coffee,
my skin goose pimpled,
and grin stupidly.

Tropical rainstorms
are as nostalgic to me
as my grandma's lemon cordial.

2 thoughts on “Memory of Singapore

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