in the exam hall we hold pens like guns –

scouts entering forest, arrows half-nocked.

how do I parade this machine of a feeling as

the bus nearly slams into an unflinching crowd.

as it does, a cow crosses the road, people walk

wristcuffed. there is smoke in our wallowing –

rising from bed, pulling an omelet over bread

like a blanket to sleep longer in. a glass of tea

in the canteen, sometimes two. in a city of ash

I sip slowly a tea of my own. a glass of milk – 

I remember the cow crossing the road, the calf

that looks phoenix. I laugh with soap in my eye –

you really thought you could keep your eyes

open through the process, didn’t you?

it’s just about the tea & then a glass to drink it from

a table to keep it on, a face to look at as I sip slowly.

the crowd brings its own rain, smelling of brimstone

& feeling of fire. & then the face to look at –

while I sip slowly, holds out a hand. I let ice melt

in the heat of the palm, a parade waning away.