POETRY

Tethered to a yellow crane’s hook,

she is no longer swaying,

from the hood, across the sleeves,

down to the hemline

the breeze of dusk

flutters her black chador.

The speaker-laden city center

resounds verses from the Quran,

and as she hangs, hovering

like a black tissue ghost,

the outline of dried piss

can be traced around her crotch.

A four year old standing barefoot,

finger excavating a nostril,

tilts his head to his left shoulder,

mimicking her head posture.

A plastic soccer ball pelts him,

and two older boys holler: Get out of the way!

He makes a wry face with tongue out,

kicking the ball back with incoordination,

then skipping to the bakery next door.