Morning on Petticoat Lane

In the winter
Even the wife-beaters
And bottle emptiers
Have haloes
They shine with the illusion
Of good intentions
And full stomachs.

The children are malnourished
Little angels
The women dance
Sun rays
In the torn faded
Of their nightgowns
The scowls automatic
On their faces
Looking like un-nuanced

The aged ones
And the very young
Sit street-side
And let the sun
Liquid, abrading
Scrub them
Of accumulated grievance.

A passer-by
Could mistake the air
Of almost-contentment
For an aura
Fervid with love.

He’d be almost

About the Author:
Adreyo Sen, resident in Kolkata, did his undergraduate work in English and his postgraduate work in English and Sociology. He hopes to find in writing his full-time vocation. He has been published in The Little Magazine, Kritya, Danse Macabre and The Stand.