As the fire devours the grass,
as flames consume the matchsticks,
the street swallows my steps,
my voice dissolves in soil.
I know the green bile of hunger.
I know the triumph of dust,
the sneering arrogance of the sun,
on the carcasses of sodden
rats. l have dined on dried dogs,
flavoured with acrid urine.
And at the feet of elaborate remnants,
I find the most high remains,
Of chicken thighs unloved by excess.
I, the explorer of aromas,
wading through the maze of rice,
delighting in trash. l say your refuse
can is finger-licking good.
They say the rich also cry,
dancing to soothe their shame,
their throbbing sores.