At the Traffic Lights
The whole town
is being turned over
like a barren field.
Patches of routed macadam
turn their glistening underbellies
to the sun, and men with pick-axes
flush the roads out
as if in search of treasure.
I saw him at an intersection
behind the ropes:
he was a little way away
from the others, not
partaking of their nimbus
of solidarity. His clothes
were limned on his body
with the sure strokes of familiarity
and sweat bubbled on his face
like the malodorous
skin of sour milk. As a
cloud provided a moment's
relief, he straightened and
shook his head, but slightly,
so that no useful energy should
dissipate. The cloud lingered,
prompting a supervisor
to stroll over from the fatter
shade of a tree and tell him
to get on with it, he didn't
have all day. Abruptly,
a prayer gleamed in the
inner seams of my heart
like a fine needle.
Then the lights changed
and we moved on,
leaving him to tangle
with his superior in
the once-removed reality
of the rear view mirror.
He was no one's concern before,
and is no one's now.
Mehvash Amin is a writer, poet, editor and publisher (Broken Leg Publications). Her poems have been published in journals such as Vallum, Sugar Mule and The Missing Slate, as well as in Abhay Khanna’s anthology, Capitals. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for her poem "Karachi". She is the force behind The Aleph Review, a yearly anthology of creative writing from Pakistan and elsewhere.