Telok Ayer morning.

The tea slops around and some lands outside the cup. I sip. I chew.

I roll the warm tang around. I let the soft kaya touch my tongue.

Black hair like water, black shoes like mirrors and hipster scooters,

Starbucks importance, Gucci secrets and North Face backpacks

Have taken over the corner of Telok Ayer and Boon Tat where the sea

Once brought silk, spice, gold, Maria Theresa dollars and the men

Whose distant descendant, I, finger the coins and minutes left to me.

My crumbs will be visited by the birds later. They have all day.