Raw meat hung from taxi ranks
hailing night’s metered hearses,
two for one sick, jet-washed away.
Rashmi picked up a fare,
two lovers going all the way
he wiped away their clouds,
sprayed moonlight from a pothole,
thought of Mumbai slums
and skins of monsoon gold.
He warned the lovers of the soil fee,
they morphed to spray tanned racists.
‘Whatever coon’ she said.