:: Death of a Neighbour ::
I have never been the type that knock on neighbours' doors.
In fact, my neighbourhood has always been a quiet one.
People keep to themselves.
Except, perhaps, the foreign maids.
Who happen to congregate at the most invisible locations.
On a daily, and then, on a nightly basis.
We would bring Bacon for his thrice-a-day walks.
For more than a few occasions, in the wee hours,
While Bacon is marking his favourite tree,
We would realise, only at the closest distance
A few figurines lurking amongst the shadows.
Of the clusters of tree.
After the condo next door was demolished,
Our neighbourhood dimmed.
There were no lamps marking the streets.
The only illumination came from the ambient lighting
And the googleboxes from the housing cluster.
We do not even see the maids around these days.
Maybe they were afraid of the dark.
Then, two midnights ago, while walking Bacon,
We noted the makeshift structure housing a wake.
A neighbour has passed on, and the family,
With no other space available, created the wake around
Our common swimming pool.
Picture this: a canopy of white, with white tables and chair
Encircling a pool of crystal blue
And being encircled by a ring of wreath of flowers.
I was bemused; it was actually a pretty setup for a wake.
Bacon's not too pleased though.
His favourite tree is out of bounds, for now.