City

Here are people who are not naked

No

they wear suits that are

the shirt of one ensemble

the shalwar of another

the shawl of a third

yellow-grey with frequent washing

at the communal tap

Here are people who are not unshod

No

they flip flop by

in under-sized sandals

over-sized shoes

with worn straps and heels, miss-shapen toes

bought off a hawker’s cart

at the second-hand market.

Here are people who are not unfed

No

they feed on bread sopped in spicy water

with sparse grains of pulses

bits of gristly meat

or the mixed mashed left-overs

of rich people’s meals.

Here are people who are not poor

No

they wait for odds and ends

like the scraps flung to foraging birds

the trickle of charity

that drips down to

the persistently poor.