The more you think of it the less
there is to miss -
and with a steady hand you empty
the jug in your head - multi-storeys
bullet lifts flyovers red taxis impatient
narrow-lane traffic and women
in wet markets haggling.
Bars full of drunken expats and Asian girls.
Tropical rain on zinc roofs.
Kids growing up with no garden
to play in, no garden,
folding paper frogs and paper planes
or chasing after home sparrows with BB guns.
As if you could.
In the small hours you hear the departure of a train
as your city returns, affectionate and ...