a quaint little repository
of frozen milk and such
was his rectangle that
he dragged over the street
summer days
orange and milk
strange combo, really
I never liked it till
the day my heart broke
and she gifted me one
for free
later I saw the guy
dismembered, a winter day
cold like a stone
clotting on the foothpath
waiting for a loved one
to tell him what I did
‘how have you been?’
FINE, he said, almost rehearsed
drew out a wet beedi
and planned his next act
the road widened, over it
fresh carts
selling branded shit
Advertisements
