The men in the corner drink espresso
and speak Hindi. Lilting, melodic, it
is the sound of Delhi and rickshaws.
I close my eyes and am in a
street side dhaba, dingy, thick
with the smell of curry.
But then my cappuccino
arrives and two Kenyan women, big hips,
big purses, walk by, complaining of how
men suck up so much space
and I am back in this FrenchAfricanAsian
café where cultures blur and jazz music
floats above the bougainvillea.

0 thoughts on “Space

Leave a Reply