18 hours
in confined space
the heat blows you away
and the air-conditioning
makes your teeth chatter

slow days in Singapore
cherries in winter
pop colonialism
all the hardhats are black—
we vanish in tropical rains

winter dreams...
I was back home
in the house by the latke
and it was springtime
woke up crying

Chinese girls with orange doos
incense and fried chicken
boys with lopsided haircuts
you can’t bring Singapore home
in a snapshot

at night 93 degrees
back home 10 inches of snow
but
when I went out for firewood
I still heard crickets

Bio: Peter Fiore