A Game of Cricket in the Bombay Slums of My Head

SIX IN BOMBAY
Stepping out to watch the rain,
refrain
from screaming, an angry schoolboy
holding up a cricket bat
at an approaching storm,
slipping,
rolling
down the garbage hill –
let the heads roll,
let them roll on down this way –
I need the practice, anyway,
I’ve got four arms;
thunder it my way
down the cement pitch,
red stains on my clothes,
my skin is blue
you know my weakness;
bring it on
and don’t slip on your follow-through.
Under the floodlights,
our protective gear
paper-thin,
our wickets made of tin;
cans stacked
like midnight stupas
enlightened:
Tendulkar
is half-god.

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