I look at my slippers,

And the feet within them,
Look small.

Small looking,


Size eleven feet,

Long toes scrabble about,
In pleasure,

They like the space.

The television is on and,

The woman in the white scarf,
And the News Anchor with the sharp Prada frames,
Were talking about,

My left foot listened as,
They described,
A woman torn from her,
Husband and child,
And forced to believe in,

My right foot is laughing,
At an American,
With cerebral palsy,
Cracking jokes in a smokey,
New York Bar,

Suffering seems to be all around,
In the air,
In the water,
In the words that lie about,
Concealed behind,
The smiling faces,
And outstretched arms,
Of demons charading as,
Leaders and,
My feet are arguing now,

Even my tooth wants more,
Doesn’t want Indian made pharmaceutical,
Just plain American please,

Published in: on September 10, 2015 at 11:43  Leave a Comment  

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