Singapore

by James Born John


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​He hands me an ice-cold fridge-fresh
Non-alcoholic beer
Which at least shows
an awareness
Last time he poured me a whisky
And I had to
Ask him to take it away
Which he did
With a smirk on his face

I still remember that smirk
And I hate him for it

I don’t know what
I’m doing here

I hate this cunt

And his wife
Of seven years
Is in the kitchen
Making dinner
Cooking something that smells
So great

And that says everything you need
To know about this guy
He lets his wife stay in the kitchen
Who does that nowadays
We could sit in the kitchen
And they could cook together
But this cunt can’t cook
Won’t lift a signet-ringed finger

He drives a car that is too big
For a couple without kids
He says “it’s their choice”
Not to have them
But when he says this
And you look at her
You see it’s not her choice
You see her glance down
Sadness weighing down her eyes
To the floor

And I take a swig of the beer
And I find myself smiling at him
And I hate myself for that
I hate that I’m a people pleaser
As he drones on about something

To do with a business deal gone wrong
In Singapore
But the deal going wrong makes him smile
As he likes the drama and likes the
Ability to sort shit out
To be awful to people who work for him

I lean back in my chair and look
Into the garden
Through the French windows
In posh paint grey with
Black cast iron handles
Her choice
Not his
He won’t even notice
How nice the handles are

The yellow glow of garden lighting
Casts the manicured lawn and
Sharp cut borders
In a hellish hue of electric blandness

And that’s when I spot
In the middle of the lawn

A dog shit

Now let’s talk about
This dog
That he treats with disdain
He only got the thing
To have something he could
Beat into submission
Legally
He likes to show off how
Well behaved his dog is

The dog is in the utility room
Asleep I guess
Dreaming of ripping his
Fucking throat out

And still he talks about
Singapore
How warm it is
How enervating
How he wanted to use this word

But then his phone buzzes
In his pocket
He lifts it out and looks
At the screen and looks
At me seriously
Like I give a shit

“I better take this”

He leaves the room
I notice he hasn’t sat down
Since I got there
What am I doing here

But I remember as I hear
Him close the door of his study
Talking in forced hushed tones
About Singapore

So I get up
Take another sip
Of my non-alcoholic beer
And head through to the kitchen

And I slide up behind her
And slip my hand down the front of
Her trousers
And she leans back into me
And moans

As I kiss her neck
She wraps her arm around mine
“He’s moaning about Singapore”
I say
“Fuck me”
She says

I think we have time

Later that night
The food tastes even better
Than I thought it would

“Fuck you” I say to him
As I swallow a mange tout
“What?”
“Thank you” I say
“For inviting me”

“Anytime” he says blandly
Checking his phone
Anytime

She looks at me
I look at her

I can still feel her
Around my cock
Warm
Like Singapore


James Born John is a writer, filmmaker and performance poet from the UK.


​​​​​​​​​SHARE - Issue: 1.8 / April 2026