Hangover Commute Poem by Leslie Xavier

Sun, the brunt on right hand,
wet dirt on the sporty soles.
The gifts are simple,
for this silent witness,
frozen on the ledge,
with buzzing guzzlers in front,
horny as they've ever been.
The strained drummer beats
the head into a gentle sway,
from a decent brandy blend.

Burning nose, a gift from the villain
of many a non-fiction volumes,
the organic monoxide,
which the city's breathes so naturally!
While up above the child plays;
with water and fusion fire.

The shrill from the right,
spilt drops and a painful whine.
Snow White in pain;
her swollen tumour, pink paws.

Frills on the left,
an impatient missy.
Full inviting lips,
trendy heels, flowing form.
But! Buzz off, her cold eyes;
the calculating numb professional.

The sidewalk shows,
nine, ten and there abouts;
the morning madness,
in formal-wear,
the deeper shades of grey.
No spare beats,
smiles or glances,
not even for mating rites.

Demands and the clock.
not me, just 'em furrow worms.
I stayed, for a while more,
dragging in the pheromone thrills,
waiting for the bus,
or was it just for my time.

Home after a sweeping ride,
sipping dreams and a game;
and a distant girl's SMS
- the smooches and love.

But the hangover?
Long gone I see.
The polluted lung,
with the morning stroll,
doing wonders and yeah;
li'l help from sweetened melons.

(Yesterday, I took a walk down Mount Road, Chennai city's nerve centre (read: busiest stretch) , during morning rush hour. In hangover mode, your body reels but your mind tend to be in its receptive best. And the busy footpath opens up, revealing some interesting faces, who naturally, are the least interested in you. They are all in a hurry, while I dreamt and walked...)