The Cleansing

I wake up at five am
before the ghosts have been buried,
sudden, to a sticky back on a marble grid
and
to birdsong on the western coast before
it is mowed by revving engines
in this place they call the metropolis in weather reports
how long has it been?

Yester night’s remnants in system ridden of
beer mouth rinsed, beer smell scrubbed
clothes dumped
huddled in red bucket in shame
a roundabout way of undertaking
project ‘I’m going to clean myself’

Fridge checked for happy surprises
water gulped down parched throat,
some cake bitten into
through the window I can see
clumpy wet hair draped over
ironed polyester salwar

Stray thought: fifth standard, picnic day
killed before it began
by pop and mom
playing ‘I blame you’
why did we go then?
something bigger than happiness
showed up at the door
mr. and mrs. neighbors were ready to leave
lunch packed, extra tissue taken, ambassador purring at the turn

Old blood swirling in my veins
thickened with self-pity
a caul of disgust enveloping
no illusions harbored,
i have been riffled the same cards
will be singed too, to the roots if i don’t

Call, find those numbers
and call
‘hi! sorry i can’t come to your party
i’m not sure i want to, actually something came up’
you social rat, still wriggling the old leathery tongue?
no, brace and say: the truth
then call after call
no, i don’t care anymore; it doesn’t matter what you think
voices thick with sleep soothe
awww! it’s just a meltdown
don’t worry, it’s only the stress, nothing really
relax, we still love you

By then I have hung up.