I could never keep track of all the names
the critics claim for my beloved,
a once-colony of sapphire isles squeezed
on a pinhead of a city state.
More than just Safire, the caning
of Michael Fay, Singapore is
the apostrohpe before a stop --
An iron tree raised above a colonial crop,
roots unseen, it blooms in waterless shade.
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Something I shrugged out over lunch.
