Crane swaying gently,
moves to pick
the metal bars that make
Our homes.
Reminds me of Singapore,
Constant changing upgrading expanding
Through water and land
Reduced, reused
Constantly renewed.

Like a leaf floating.
Uninterrupted sleep,
Waking to find the sound of
metal, drilling
on my gritted teeth in dreams
of the future.
Future is now.
Now, we’re constantly building our future,
Born and Bred.

Blind rampaging through forests,
Concrete slabs falling, through still air
Clanging of metal.
Yellow hard hats
Safety first.
they gently stroke the faces of their young men
Throwing them softly into cheap tuna can rooms
Coins falling to
The floor, spinning
to a halt.

Crane’s muscles glimmering in the glaze of the oven-
like economy
Sweaty salty soil
Splits into savings for sunny Singapore.
The man glides out of his hut in ice-skates,
Fingers. Slender. Tough.
Pays attention to his form, in verses he crafts at night.
Writing our country into sight,
The gritty cranes never put to mind.
We never look back twice.
On his wings We take flight.


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