Silence. Heat.
High pitched whimpering pierces the stifling night air. Must be the dogs.
I lie,
Mostly Naked, in my kanga
covered in an ever-lasting film of Salty Sweat Spandex jumpsuit.
Air so heavy I can
take my butter knife,
and spread it like the five-dollar can of
Skippy Crunchy Peanut Butter
from Spinach.
Fan blades circling fast to become a circle.
Trying hard, screeching against the weak flow of Electricity
Threatening to detached itself from the wall
And roll away.
Swivel. Swivel. I stare.
Through the pitch-black darkness
tainted with Smog of
The Thousand Rickshaws revving through the night
and the light from
The Million Individual Lights of Mumbai.
sights of poverty from the day
run across like a Silent
America's Most Depressing Home Vidoes.
swivel. swivel. swivel.
naked child, save a string around his waist
swivel. swivel.
young girl in over-sized clothes gathering water in a discarded AuqafinA bottle
swivel.
swivel.
old man skeleton with skin
lying on an old mattress that lost its comfort
over a decade ago when
its previous owner, drunk,
beat his wife to death in their
one-room sheet-metal closet
(did I say closet? I meant shack. I mean house.)
with dirt floors furnished only with
that mattress and
scattered pots and pans,
and a very small gas stove
that she used to cook chapati
and marsala curry, spices from the nearby factory
(did I say factory? I meant warehouse. I mean shack.)
where the eyes of the workers are permanently teary and red from the chili powder,
But only if she had found enough bottles in the garbage dump to recycle that day.
Stories shared of
slums freshly bulldozed,
Homes Torn in Two.
Families on a treasure hunt through rubble,
As the bulldozer sleeps on the edge
with a content smile. Nametag? BMC.
The rickshaw continues to speed past
As the driver begins cursing in Hindi.
Tears fall,
but not as many as those
from the eyes looking through rubble that they once called Home.
Swivel.
three thirty-two a.m.
and I am lying in a sheen of Salty Sweat Spandex jumpsuit.
Friday, June 15, 2007
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