i can see the vivid unforgiving streets of mumbai in her thought cloud. in her 2am reverie, the woman tells me why she can’t go to india
she will come back to our flat with no less than
ten babies
five monkeys
eight dogs
twenty cats
and one elephant
three with four legs between them
two blind
one abused
she will raise the children as her own
four will be teachers
three counsellors
two social entrepreneurs
one politician
they will be religious
three as muslims
three as hindus
three as christians
in pairs, they will
save strays
save whales
champion the environment
champion the poor
while one writes about it
and her favourite child, the one with the unhappy eyes under a fringe of curls
he is the godless vigilante
she will raise him on gun justice for silky gangster, mercenary, criminal scalps
the thought sends serotonin bursts through her cheerless insomniac neural crevices. but just before her hand grows still on my tipped ear and she drifts away, another occurs to her
the children will more likely rebel against their crazy hippie adopted mother. they will be sterling citizens
four as lawyers
three as bankers
two integrated resort developers
and one game show host
sweet unhappy dreams
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