The nursing babes are sick from the heat
and the dark dioxide settles forcefully
in our lungs. A man puffs an Intore, disgusted,
three women sit on the dirt
legs bare and hair uncombed.
The street children dream
of being rascals, yet
they’re too afraid to steal;
the barefoot one especially.
The newspaper man knows the colours
that adorn the headlines
in his stack and smiles every time
he hands the wrong one.
A child gets slapped,
a birds feather’s harshly plucked
behind the curtains of an empty cafe.
Chinamen send dozens of colourful gadgets
that pack the shops, which in turn pack
each other, side, top, bottom;
many men yell and my attention splits
into capillary thoughts.
Buses come in bringing more
and more as I grow dull.