The Hand-Turned Ferris Wheel No Bigger Than Full Moon Poem by Bernard Henrie

Even to the blind of Kamatipura District
you clearly come from posh Malabar: blue
school uniform, braided hair, the polished
book satchel slung at your side like a badge
of permanent wealth and privilege.

But you said yes to a ride on the hand cranked
Ferris wheel. The rusted frame is no larger
than a full moon over Deharmshal Road, it turns
lazily and almost not at all. How lucky that you
were not thirsty for cane juice afterwards, for my
few coins were all gone to the wind. Next day,
my classmates tease, but I will not tell them
her name. Cruelly, they suggest I should give
any remaining rupees to the legless man
who begs outside our school.