The Frenchman’s water bottle

Now on the other green bench , where a neighbor was . There is slush before every man’s bench. I am the neighbor today and I make no nostril noises.

Yesterday’s night spilled over to this morning of poetry where a Philip Larkin had brought a London shame from hiding. Here in India we have an act of Parliament for  the fearless.

The woman from the London poor lay in ruins like a child to be killed or sent to an aunt. Here a bus harbored desires that took boys up the dusty attic of fulfillment ,leaving everyone confused as to who is more deceived.

In the dusk hours of yesterday we heard of a French man who was angry with a water bottle. When asked to report to a brown skinned boss, the French worker in the factory’ s workshop got so angry  with it that he crushed the water bottle out of shape.

To think  it made such a big splash on the silence of the board room.


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