Friday, 10 June 2011

Fourteenth Day in February

So slopes confetti, kissing the floor

Sighing in time with the “assistant”

Who also slopes at the door

Stasis in the midst of a fluster

Of husbands in at quarter-to- four

While girls trill in, shrill with glee

At clutter and tack marked “amour

Stitched by shadows in south sea shacks

The same place was dank that day

While he scuffed open boxes of riot

For the inevitable sales display

He paused, then popped upstairs

Parked her wheelchair in its bay

Cleaned her plates, brushed her hair,

Leaned forward to hear her say

“Time t’open up Love, be on your way.”


Ali A. Naqvi

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