a jib crane and eventual death
the caving metal roof, last century’s rust
the optimistic glow of impending collapse.
loud indecipherable Marathi
(the director’s cut)
ricochets off the walls,
floor, walls, floor, out the window
what did you do yesterday?
I was late to class again.
(blame it on the train, nobody believes you)
where’s the attendance sheet?
a momentary distraction flies in
heads turn, a pigeon in the laboratory
nothing of interest.
scour the skies and eventual death
a trail of feathers,
breadcrumbs on the forest floor.
but they only ever lead to
jib cranes and eventual death.
where’s the fucking attendance sheet?
To mechanics lab, for being the backdrop to several tired sentences.