My cousin, Ah Hou, flung my specs and fled
from the tenth floor to catch what he’d dispatched.
The plastic lenses were crazily scratched.
On another day, my cousin, Ah Hou, hid
my school bag in the garbage bin. His mum
screamed. He rubbed his head and acted dumb.
When he was born again, Ah Hou renamed
himself Hosea. Worked in a shoe factory.
At weddings, he would sidle up to me,
both visibly alone, vaguely ashamed,
to preach, God would have cracked him like my specs
if Ah Hou had stayed hidden like my bags.