The porpoises are jumping in the waters
just off the beach, leaping with relish
their unrepentant show-off moves.
A man walks down the old street, eating
his lunch of fish balls on a stick—
a little boy trails behind on a battered
tricycle, a dog walking along side
fascinated by the entire contraption
and the boy’s mother giving him plenty
of room to drive as he sees fit.
Above a local campaign poster of one
councilwoman Wong someone has written
on the wall in Chinese ‘The world can still
astound’—I write the same just above it
in English, showing off like the porpoises,
my strokes charged like dorsal glitter.