The Coolie
By craig2
Liquid waves of concrete heat stop solar plexus high, knowing knees and callused feet keep rhythm as battered wheels grind gravel, gritted teeth. Bent, thinned, yet equinely poised, the rickshaw stammers empty with invisible foreign weight- strong tightened sun soaked slits like greedy huckster eyes dart fiercely through chaotic void in quest of next equestrian fares. Far into the cool damp night the journey never ceases, predestined destination, speaking to the street - his constant dream is he as seated, the jitney pulls itself, the pilgrimage of every tourist's night illuminates, becomes his own. Written December 4th, 2001 © on Mar 04 2002 11:35 AM PST 0 • 10
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"Liquid waves of concrete heat..."