ruefully mulling over the loss of some clog that morning
in the corner
keeping to itself,
the flow continues
collecting shadows and reflections
a bird whimsically ensconcing by
a scooter drooling the fuel away
some one walks past it
no one pays attention
sparse unto itself,
the waters running dry
its fleck that pushes people away starkly
its stink —low on it
it cries dry tears
in the winter going by
a tea vendor simpers by
carefully avoiding any contact with the smallest droplet it’s got to offer
a fleet of office-goers even in their all consuming joie de vivre
don’t forget to avoid it
self-sufficiency is seldom a trait looked down upon
but even its compliant quiet stature attracts deride
a bastion of cars float along
honking, puffing smoke out
they continue to rescind themselves from its obvious presence
it is mid-january
and people want to rest their busy bodices in the balmy sun
but its somber presence in the lonesome corner continues to trouble them
its mere sight, a reminder of the smut scrouged in bothersome corners of their houses
with no other option in sight or mind, it nestles itself in the runny corners
where the road meets the pavement
carrying the debris of everyday human existence
the bawdy ejaculations from all the holes of the humanoid shaft
collecting gathering harvesting
without a nudge, without a poke,
no whimper, no murmur
it does its job everyday
till the last day
when it becomes one with the road on which you walk
rubbing your toes with the discards you left behind
that you realize
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