milo peng

When I think of milo peng

I think of Fong Seng

The late night suppers we'd gather for,

tumbling down from Eusoff Hall

skipping over the long narrow drain behind houses, a shortcut 

to rush to our favourite seats,

order all that comes with milo peng

like prata kosong and maggie goreng,

details lost in a hazy image 

only laughter left over;

or I think of us gathering at a nondescript coffeeshop

with a friend who rarely ventured out.

Everyone had ordered their drinks 

We gazed at her expecantly

when she asked the aunty

"what do you have"

Anything would have set us off 

and that was too much then.

At the coffeeshop, 

you know what they have

you never ask.

She wanted iced milo

which we helpfully translated:

"Milo peng ah Auntie";

Or I'm back at Newton Circus

with mum, dad and brother 

gazing in awe at lobsters on ice

bright red claws pointing to the skies.

We order mee goreng mutton

which arrives hot, red, shiny on our plates

so that for every mouthful of fire

we'd down 2 gulps of milo peng, 

the only drink

cool enough milky enough 

chocolaty enough 

to hit the high

and complete the meal, 

like a photoframe

of family and friends.

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