This was borne from another one of those afternoons spent with Dan and Ashlee in a cafe…I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in Cafes in Ho Chi Minh City! I then read it out at a book launch for publishing house Ajar later on at an event held at Saigon Ranger, D1.

Two cushions used to sit side by side
With complementary colours and textures
Of a strongly meshed fibrous weave.

Once vibrant and so much desired
they’ve started to stretch out and fade;
much like our feelings, I fear, my friend.

Zips that held it together
burst now and vomit forth out
all that’s stuffed up and furious inside.

That stain on the back of the left one?
It’s a puddle of tears, angry coffee, spilled bubbles
that together spell out my integrity.

Two cushions that move further apart.
One’s been scratched to pieces by the cat;
one’s got a seam that’s unravelling

with colours that no longer connect
as if it’s been burned by the sun;
while the other spent too long alone in the dark.

I think it’s time we replaced our shamed dirty sofa,
bedrock of our so called great institution
cos the springs have all gone from the bottom
and the cushions no longer make sense.