and the streets are running out

with people and rickshaws, motorbikes (there,

four adults on a single cycle), water buffalo

stomping through traffic,


tilting their chins in response

to horns begging them to move.

The traffic slips ahead,

crawling over itself like snakes in a pit,


falters, stops to ruminate, begins again.


And a child knocks

on the window, shines her red teeth,

seeks money to buy water,


or for the man who owns her.

He’s out there, somewhere. Everything kicks

again, we move through the storm of dust.


A man leaps into a moving bus,

his plastic sandal falls

and tumbles to die upon the street. The bus keeps on,

traffic stops.


another shoe flies


from the bus door, expelled as from a kick,

either angry, resigned, or neither.


by Kevin Eldridge

Kevin recently graduated with an MFA from Indiana University and works as an English and SAT tutor.

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