Changi

straggly trees
outlining the roadsides
claustrophobic avenues
leading off into the June sunshine
and a green heat haze

barbed wire and twenty-foot walls
a mile away from the beach
a mile away from anywhere
armoured trucks and green fences
shimmering in oily light
Idyllic?
I hardly think so

And then
a house on a hill
orange and pale green
old;
dead;
and the cicadas serenade a funeral march

the inmates stare
blankly
their lives as dull as the whitewashed walls
ernie els is on TV
but no one cares
only the shimmer above the green seems familiar

the nurses are smiling,
smiling -
through the sallowness of their despised existence -
bustling about and trying to breathe life
into a place that died long ago

there are these old people
in a green house on a hill
imprisoned in the recesses of their minds
imprisoned behind a green fence
they only see the shimmering heat haze -

and hear the cicadas
shrill and unrelenting
serenading a funeral march