Other side of Kovan

I’ll meet you on the
other side of Kovan,
away from the teeming madness
of the mall, the hawker centre,
and the motorised sushi restaurant.

There, along Simon Road,
stands a line of old shophouses,
strung together by a cracked and stained alleyway.
At the corner sits a greasy kopitiam
that time seems to have left behind,
where the floor is still paved with blue and pink mosaic tiles,
the kind that was fashionable a generation ago.

There, every night, a wrinkled old man
clad in a white cotton singlet and
a pair of faded grey shorts
wrestles amidst shooting flames with his
enormous cast-iron wok,
selling fried oysters for three,
four, or five dollars a plate.

There, just metres from the road,
rests an aging plastic table where I
like to sit in the evening,
just before sundown, watching
as people make their way home.

Come down the road after you exit the station,
you’ll see me there.



- 24 February 2008