The man who roars above the high-pitched chatter of the crowd, to prove that his enjoyment of the enjoyment is more intense, is always among the clients—him or his brother or cousin or someone with the same ideas about the right way to behave in a public place. The woman who shrills on the same register as the whine of the mosquito is also here, drink in hand, or could be her sister or cousin. Mosquito woman and lion man lead the dance, sprinkling their drinks like pixie dust among the splinters of Sunday calm with their asinine braying. The shrieking laughter of their children, allowed to play their idiotic games with empty cans and plastic bottles while parents drink and bray at one another according to the rules of adult enjoyment, drills into my brain with the precision of a dentist’s drill. Oh death, where is thy sting? Come, sting liberally around here—this enjoyment needs you.
Dust, red pepper hot
stings eyes with sweat-stuck lashes—
spring seems far away.