blows into the air, acrid too,
tickling my nose.
I watch the train on the bridge,
fascinated by the train of smoke,
a dark trail in clear sky
the seeds of toil on the ground-
a much needed respite from drudgery-
I touch my nose yet again
burnt ground, folly of merciless sun
or something unknown buried deep
by black suited man
in the deep dark night-
all so hush hush,
where thoughts too are censored
on a clear day, I look at myself,
almost translucent skin-
nothing so spectacular
"mutant life abounds where I live
isolated, but for the train.
even smoke is a welcome diversion"
