An Urban Girl’s Vignette

On a Tuesday this summer,
at the onset of dawn, I watched 
three monkeys’ tryst with a telephone tower- 
the baby, hesitantly sandwiched 
between Mumma and Papa perhaps,
shimmying down the pole. My eyes followed

them as they disappeared into a thicket 
down below, unbeknownst to the passersby 
on the road, lost just a few metres away,
in the concrete jungle. Horns drowned out 
the hornbill’s serenade, the sun coyly peaked

from behind white curtains to gently tie together 
the city mayhem with its warm 
strokes of ochre and orange. On days 
like these, my friend once said,

when you stand alone, waging war 
with yourself, you must 
allow the heat to bake your hair

to crisps, must let the morning breeze 
sneak under your skirt, and hold you

in ways arms never can.


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