by Yuk Lam Chan
there is so much more to me, you see,
beyond the fragrant chrysanthemums, daffodils,
the sweet saccharose made by bees
the forest nymph, the handsome hunter
the former, deprived of free expression
the latter, vain, an arrogant character
I am the result of the depression and obsession
Long ago, linked with jealousy and envy
now, more often with jubilance and glee
I am the cap whispering "push down and turn",
the scissor musing over previous projects,
the little ducks on that lone sock
the cover, the collar, the liquor
like the sun enveloping us on a winter day
as much loved as hated
Webster calls me "sometimes offensive...
...sensational or scandalous...
the ordinary...sensationally distorted..."
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