today, the highways saw a procession
of green: one thousand ojol riders
 
in synchrony. it was the coda and 
prelude to the fire. the parliamentarians 
 
stayed hidden in their mansions. smoke 
mingled with everyday smog. tell me: 
 
what is the right outpouring of grief? 
a boy lies crushed beneath a truck. 
 
his mother bears the weight of
his delivery. never the right time 
 
nor place. the city rings its sirens and 
alarms. not everyone will be working
 
from home. it has gotten too expensive 
to eat. the looters take bearbricks and 
 
watches. the streamers are snuffed into 
silence. political winds are like monsoons.
 
aspiration has returned to despondency. 
the old rallying cries are echoing: against 
 
nepotism, corruption, and cruelty. who pays 
for a public salary? who guts the systems
 
of relief? the islands are moving in history. 
the weight on so many is creaking.