Pre-Christmas Colors

by Amit Parmessur

When I stop my bicycle in
the swirling dust and watch the
old woman’s lush garden I feel
like a roasted turkey on two wheels.
Once at the library the textures
and tastes of the books transform
me into a blue world map and
then flatten me into an ancient page.
The frantic bazaar decolorizes me
and I become invisible. I still
owe the egg seller a few coins.
Forgetfulness you see.
When I stop again and see the
sun stealing water from the
municipality fountain I feel eager
to serve others. I’m the type who
feels timeless when I hear the big
town clock. Yet, I fail to be proud
of my people as I see almost
everyone whizzing past with musical
corks in their ears nowadays.
I feel like pointing a gun at those
who throw cigarette butts on the
ground too. They have a head
of cauliflower instead of a brain!
I just hope Christ never quits me
and we ban selling unborn chicks
or else I shall keep buying eggs for free
and hatch them into life and
fill my street with merry cackling.