(भारत के सूर्य अपनी स्मृति को साफ धो कर सकते हैं?मुझे लौटा.)
alarm clocks hiss and hurl
across the a.m.
bending to break the slumbers
of men with hands made of
wallet leather
from swinging luggage pendulums
and guiding airplanes
with glowing sabers.
they march in symphony
the pistons of taught skin
and sighing muscle,
removing wheel blocks
and giving the
go-ahead
for take off.
cab drivers, flight attendants,
hospitality agents, rental car clerks,
pilots, more cab drivers (rickshaw, too,
on crimson dirt and tip toe).
i was wondering, over coffee and blinking lights, what it meant
for men to scramble for you, like i did and do, in concert how
even the men building the airplane somehow knew that one day
these metal wings were for you, for your convenience, for your
displacement, to air sail you from india and back to angel stadium
adjacent, did you know how precious their hands and cheap
wedding rings ached for travel, how they lied down to watch
exits on a daily basis and how regret felt different in
pressurized cabins? maybe you did, maybe you knew how hard
we all worked for you.
brows perk and sweat in lobbies
while your सफ़ेद legs shimmer sideways
wishing us all a happy labor day.
