Two Poems by Tammy Ho Lai-ming

SOMETHING IS ROTTEN
Peter, I heard you, you hurt your wrists
When being tied to the chair.
It was an internet cord, not dental floss.

Peter, I saw you, you weren’t eating enough.
She threw away the ham that was still good.

Peter, I heard you too,
When you laughed with other boys.
They were making fun of you.
You were too bright, ‘the geek’.

She hurt you. She was in tears.
That didn’t mean she cared.
They knew their laughs would not last.

Peter, it’s too late to revenge now.
She’s dead, as all parents eventually are.
And they, those little bastards,
They grew up lousy and they know it.

But they don’t think of you: not once.
You remember them. You have not won.

YOU RIDE YOUR BIKE
On your bike you ride through the city,
In the rain, in the snow,
Perhaps in the sun.
Perhaps, you say, into trouble.

The other day you almost ran over a fat little girl -
She was in a faded red dress,
A large ribbon on her chest.
Her hair was short, her nose was flat.
Then you forgot to buy me a bottle of wine:
Chilled white wine from France.
I said your mouth was full of elaborate lies,
You have simply forgotten the wine,
You have forgotten the chilled white wine.

But I still trimmed the bushes for you,
You said they blinded the sight of my windows,
How can I see you riding past? You asked.
For you are no postman, you don’t ring the bell.
Only your wheels leave a trail, a buoyant tail.

And I’ll see you tomorrow, and tomorrow.

About the author:
Tammy Ho Lai-ming is a Hong Kong-born writer currently based in London, UK. She is an assistant poetry editor of Sotto Voce Magazine and a founding co-editor of CHA: An Asian Literary Journal. Her poem “She Dressed in All Black” has been previously published in Word Riot. More at www.sighming.com.

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