About These Bouts Poem by Milind Padki

On weekends, punctually at 6.00 pm on Fridays,
Unsupported by a general public groundswell, I unravel.
Wear costumes, go to concerts, I
Die in bed, I jump off bridges. No one
Applauds, there is no police car trying
To save me. It is a lifestyle choice, like
Wearing alien glasses: I scandalize the suburbs.
In staid Indian parties, I produce clandestine
Marijuana chocolates i.e. recite poetry. The applause
Is muted. But it is there.
My drunk lasts only two days. Punctually at 6.00 pm
On Sundays, I curse, (Yes, I say 'fxxk! ') , I vacuum,
I laundry, I iron, I pack a healthy brown bag:
One apple, one protein bar and a Greek yogurt,
I wear my pants one leg at a time, I polish my
Burgundy-brown dress shoes to a sheen, I produce
ROI for American Capital. A very public groundswell
Supports me. My bright red car of Japanese manufacture
Stands at my door, servile and buttoned down.
Its chrome is shining.