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Cancerous Noon
A humid afternoon
buds burning in the aftereffect
of a sumptuous meal
The question of the hour is
was it spicy
may be-may be not
and the second question follows suit
Is the cooling inside adequate
For heat rashes would start forming
like maggots in dead meat in a while
(Images from ‘Into the Wild’ run thru)
Thank heavens for the sunglasses on my eyes
as they put the rest of the world in slumber
obliterating the bright hues of life
Tangerine Dream creates the sonic mystery
the recreational standstill dissolves
And
Tap-tap
A-knock-on-the-glass
A wiry woman stands outside
her hand outstretched
a small baby sleeps
on her nonexistent shoulder
holding her nonexistent breasts
The next question that gets asked
What could that possibly be
a cruel joke-malnourishment-low metabolism
And another lad comes ahead
In the theatre of my mind I see
the flash of a title card ‘Fresh demands’
His hand starts moving on the bonnet
hot metal being polished by rag and bare brown skin
with his destiny written over it
of a destitute
of a past life sinner
a low life
Another knock on the glass
on my shell-a shell of
ignorance and anonymity
created by a pair of sunglasses
and some fresh hashish from Malana
another knock and
another and
a n o t h e r
shell shocked I honk the horn
it responds in an instant
faster than my conscience
and louder too
The lad moves to the other end
with photogenic desparation
and a raised palm
little fingers with a prominent fate line
dirt-the detritus from hours of cleaning
along with germs and what else
gross
I turn my head
and look ahead thru my eyes with
dark-black-cancer-protecting-glasses
protecting my vision from preventable cancer
as my conscience starts to stink
of soars of cancer
eating away slow
spreading the contagious poison
with the cataract of indifference
blurring it
I unroll my window
and throw a currency note
unaware of the denomination
unsure of the value
may be less than my
regular-evening-decaf-latte
or even lower than
my three drags of death
something that could probably fill
the worm infested- inflated stomach
of the little baby
or may be not
And the signal turns green.
Published 18th Jan 2012
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
18th Jan 2012 5:58pm
This piece is masterful. The description of everything while waiting at the light, to the way you change the tone in the middle of the poem. I can´t begin how to tell how it adds to the social undertones in it.
18th Jan 2012 9:34pm
Matthew
Thank you as ever.
The edits helped this poem.
Honoured for the listng,
S'
Thank you as ever.
The edits helped this poem.
Honoured for the listng,
S'
