The Muppets painted the ward manila

“I say, look here, I’m sorry but there’s no room for further negotiation. Your father will have to be discharged tomorrow. He has exceeded his stay by a week and there’s no way we can allow for more extension.”

“No, but can’t you see Dr Grouch, he still can’t speak! Suppose we bring him home and we can’t manage his care?”

“There’s nothing further I can do about his trauma that’s causing his temporary speech loss. The hair balls in his stomach have been removed, including the surrounding stray ones along the oesophagus.” In a more reassuring tone “You don’t really have to do much anyway. Just make sure that he doesn’t go back to licking himself again. He should be fine after some counselling.”

(The children honk amongst themselves)
“ I guess he is right. We bring him home today.”
“So, today’s the day”
“yeah”

With a sigh, Jim the ventriloquist was hailed back from his holiday in sunny Batam.

Mysterious Fireworks

The flowery display of sparks shout
Your name before falling
into the eventual envelope of darkness.
Yet the “boom” “boom” “boom” can’t
challenge the silence to follow-
“pardon me” I question your short existence,
that leaves me pining a new adjustment.

No such lights that bring spectrums of colours.
Only the other sun-catcher but it hangs too still;
Too still and on a string it swings and cannot let go
And yet it’s there unlike
The mysterious fireworks.

Finally I try to find you fireworks.
But you work on wonder, wish and wholeness.
Your mystery returns to the chest until
a new year comes around,
Before you spray your splendor again anew.
But grant you this I say, I might
Not forget the memory of the past bold sight.

The Lucky Draw

When my sister was eleven and I nine, she entered a drawing into a children's magazine and got second prize for it. The judges must have thought her painting of penguins set in snow and watery ice-holes quite captivating. I had thought the prize captivating. It was a hamper of 48-set crayons, 12 tubes Faber Castel paints, pencils and what- have- you all mountained in a square tray. If you remember the crayons and pencils of the old days and maybe even now, they smell terrific; of newness and all-out possibilities. Those smelled of victory. Inspired, I entered a work of my own. The focus point of "Sunrise on the bay" was the rising sun of melded orange yellows and reds; of newness and all-out possibilities. “Sunrise” didn't get displayed in the winner's corner. It got lost in the mail. Possibly. Or more possibly, the contest became obsolete. However, two years later, as soon as my brother could wield a broken crayon, he mailed his work in and won the third prize. I don't remember what he drew.

This July my sister won a Toyome Electric Oven in a lucky draw. It had meant something to a family whose luck was like finding a worm in an apple; a live one. We acknowledge grimly that we have to work for our wares, kitchen or non-kitchen. Still, my sister's no longer eleven and the electric oven is no box of victory crayons. When the initial thrill of the win wore off, we thought that perhaps it would be more wise in future to win something we need. Because there the box sat, destitude, dejected and dusting in the corner. For several days, I would find my sister making calls or on e- bay attracting prospective Toyome Electric oven buyers. At one point in time, she seated the box quietly next to her on the couch as she keyed in its vital statistics. At other moments she jumped at the ringing phone and negotiated quite excitedly. Her efforts were outstanding, but God is fair. She may be one bossy lawyer, but the price previously set at eighty-five dollars and sixty cents continued to drop.

Finally there was a buyer! A cab drew up outside our terrace house one cooling night as my sister hugged Toyome out for the exchange. She didn’t mind that her sleeves were rolled up or had hair falling from her executive bun. It was an important moment for Toyome. It had entered our household boldly against odds. It was now leaving even- thirty dollars and sixty cents less important.

One Year with Emu Boy
I had a dream that I was wondering
Far and long- It took me
Through cityscapes and seaside towns,
Vineyards drunk and orchard grounds.
I took the train and bus and trained to walk,
Yet this distance amounts to not
One year with emu boy.
“Pardon me!” I said, to a rushing folk,
What might be the rush?
Where are you going, why all the fuss?
“Why to finish the day, and then my life will start,
My hours do not matter now, only the minutes late I trust.”
Why funny, it is I've always known
My moments seem to last
Not one minute or an hour
Or captured in a snap shot grin
But more a linking scene of laughter
In myOne year with Emu Boy
When I woke up tired and flushed,
From all the dreaming all alone,
Emu Boy entered and kissed and smiled and said.
“ Why you look exhausted, what have you been doing so,
Not wandering like you used to, all alone?”
“No in wondering I had you, I had you all along.
PerfectYear it has been, Emu boy, perfect has it not?”
“ one year?” He said astonished-
“Oh you mean in human terms…”
“ How our emu time is measured, ____________________”