Late Breakfast
Men's slippers off
Concrete floor
Orange fabric across the ceiling
One fan pokes through
Spinning slowly
A saried woman strolls past
Plastic red palates of empty soft drink bottles
Scattered cigarette butts, constellations frozen like comets half ablaze
Black flies buzz on the surface of the moon
Two tiny cups of chai
"Too sweet," she says
A biscuit, though, will round things out
A current calendar (strangely as most things here are anachronisms)
Masjid e Madina opposite
An elderly beggar woman with a tattered blue blanket
The inverted V to mouth tapping like a woodpecker to her wrinkled lips
Biscuit, chai, dosa
"Idli," she says...
"No idli there. All gone."
She stands for five long minutes and then leaves
Three yellow stools
A torn To Rent flyer
A call for poetry en plein air
The reek of 19th century French impressionism
Poetry is a process of selection
Not including everything
Nothing is arbitrary
But not everything has meaning