Refuse Ghazal

The woman begs to cover her husband’s body
with a blanket, but the police refuse—

Their daughter sits on the curb, wailing into her hands.
Someone will try to pull her away, say Shh; she will refuse.

A train whistle cuts through the rain. Leaves quiver and mix
with shadows in the alley— the only witnesses that won’t refuse.

Everyone else averts their eyes: the duck egg vendor, the drunk,
men out for a smoke; late night owls at the bar. All refuse.

Mid-October, near dawn. The pedicabs ghost away. Tinny rattle,
gravel spray. How many deaths as of today? The mind wants to refuse

these horrors. The MO’s like this: two masked men on a motorbike ride
up to their target. Shots ring out. Every day, bodies pile up like refuse.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

One Reply to “Refuse Ghazal”

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.