My cheongsams and dresses slowly fade
from waves of silk to plaid cotton textiles
my Chanel lipstick morphs into
a pedestrian red shade
my leather shoes walk away
burlap taking their place.

I saw you in the wine shop,
lovingly built,
as you slowly broke it down
brick by brick,
extracting the worth of its goods for your pleasure.
The bottles of burgundy joy
exchanged for a flurry of green,
for a short-lived moment of celebration
notes multiplied tenfold
following a victorious whinny
Their worth exchanged for a
small piece of me,
our children,
our house,
our cars.

The King’s face tampered,
used unrighteously,
given away at reckless abandon
upon a galloping horses’ head.

The shop erodes, and the
leather bags that once hugged my back are no more.
Gone are the days of a car to oneself,
or the afternoons playing hide and seek
around the house’s four voluminous levels.
Once the bell rings, I no longer wait
with head high for the
Benz to turn the corner—
rather I move the feet that
once held home to Mary Janes,
slowly making way to our increasingly dilapidated villa.

The dinner table slowly shrinks cowardly,
curling up into a ball of marble.
The dishes and their steaming contents
scatter on the floor and melt into the granite.
Orh nee, Teochew porridge, and steamed fish
scutter away between the gaps with which the
plants are now timidly poking their shoots out.
The large, bruised stockpot holds steadfast,
protecting its meagre contents with relentless faith.

But the pot cannot protect the endless
Shelling of the store’s broken walls,
Holding up with relentless dedication,
Before collapsing to the floor,
Money squeezed out from between its bricks.

We erode as the money rains on the horse track.