Hot Wind, White Sky ~ Amy
Watch, as I leave the gate.
Two girls are waiting for taxis,
two girls are crossing my path.
The first pair wear
skirts or a shirt masquerading as a dress.
We’d call them sluts or slags
or slappers, but we’ve all been there.
Long legs, frosty night, no coat,
But here they do it for a living.
The other pair crossing my path,
they don’t look at the legs,
just turn and whisper. Covered
head to foot, hijabs
Come with me, let’s take a walk.
I’ll show you a pavement that
forgot its duty and fell
three feet into a drain.
A road crossing where the green man
runs in panic, feet pedalling
as if on an imaginary bicycle.
This city is built for cars.
Almost every car is a taxi, and yet
you want a ride?
I’ll take you to a mall, half empty
half dying. Cracks creeping.
Upstairs, the walls yawn toothless
while half a mile away
they are building a new mall.
I trip on down the street, sweating.
How will I remember this place?
Hot wind, white sky,
sweat frozen, flags hung,
heavy breathing, brown skin,
smiling eyes, Indian accents,
aching heart, high-rise views,
It starts to rain
and the damp air hits my nostrils
like musty chloroform.
It could be London, if not for
and that cloud skewered on the Petronas.