Wet market

Its eyes were murky, the last gasped for air,

the fish was prepared for the chopping boards.

The butcher grabbed a fowl, he said his prayer.

Best served with Choysum[1], the tiny yellow cords!


Ah je[2] invited us over to take a closer look

at the USA plums she had sprayed water on,

housewives fought for those without a flaw

and chaffered, they smiled, then happily gone.


The Red A lamps hovered above the eggs,

credentials both Arabic and Chinese.

Bottles of soy sauce were loaded onto the truck.

Some asked the coolie why he had tried so hard.


Some kids ran and shoved past him.

(Fai d lah)

He shrugged and worked and waited for home.

[1] Chinese flowering cabbage.

[2] A Middle-aged woman



By Pamela Ho