Wet night of the cloudburst
When the floods and the traffic
Clog the roads—
The policeman
Waving his glowing batons
Muffled in raincoat—
Sodden like a seed—
Why did we argue?
Why did you hurl that unkind word on me?
Why did I respond the way I did?
I will be home at eight to a warm supper
Of steaming rice and tapioca and pickle
And you, three hours hence—
In all probability—
To pickle and tapioca and steaming rice.
We both need a hot bath before the meal
Back from the wet and the cold...
I can imagine,
You stretching aching legs under the table,
As the old dame
Ladles rice on to your plate.
A funny expression you have on your face,
Mustachios combed down!
Shhhhh… she tells you,
In a hush
Swinging out of reach—
The children,
Don’t you wake them up!
*****
5 comments:
The first stanza brought me the image of Bakery Jn.! you do have an eye for the details, maybe the influence of your profession.
There is an interesting, voluptuous, pre-copulation intimacy following.. though i am slightly confused as to who is I and who is you, when in comes a 'she' ( not the old dame, I hope! :D) Imagining the scene, something started slowly stirring... . Loved it, except for the confusion..
Made some changes. I'm still not all that happy with the result...Let's move on, what.
very interesting piece.very evocative. frames pass befor the mind, one after the other
Thanks. It was a moment when frames and identities merged. Balachandran helped me improve this.
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