inequality

A Close Call

All of eleven or twelve

He spends his day weighing

grains of rice

pretending it was a game

but sometimes it’s not as easy His eyes are red with boredom

His youthful joy and genius

being spent on cigarette maths,

memorizing different juice brands

and getting yelled at for being

distracted, overwhelmed, imperfect, lost in thought

in other words, a kid

I grab at a packet of chips without a second thought

Twisting at the threads of my laughable anxieties

“The red ones are better, for just ten rupees more

For you it is nothing. Oh, but you don’t care.”

I stare at him. Something in me turns to lead and can’t move

I’m transfixed by his unplanned moment of wisdom

I want to peel him away from this sunny, metallic shed

and launch him into the air like a rocket, a beam, an orbiting star

I want him to rise and grow and become himself

and I want him to laugh as he looks back

at distant, hazy memories of hopeless afternoons

and exclaim that it was a close call