Old Woman and Pig, Jaipur
The bus stalled at a pot-hole
I watched through the steamed-up window
An old woman pause to squat.
Lifting her colourful sari
(Fiery as Siva, golden as marigolds)
Near to a sacred ghat,
She exposed her withered withers,
Assumed the excreting position.
Her body divided sharply,
A curving scimitar slash;
Through the thin grey gash
A brown banana of shit
Emerged from its peel
A noon deposit the rooting hog would bank.
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