by Bakul Banerjee
My vest has sixteen pockets.
Accurate graphics printed inside
the left breast explains their uses.
If I could I would capture sixteen affections,
only precious ones, of different shapes
and sizes. I would put them in pockets.
Some will stay with the precious passport,
or the money bag, others with used tissues,
or a forgotten devalued Cambodian note.
If I could I would keep them trapped
forever with fancy closures, flaps
with Velcro or zippers. Upon whim
I would take them out to play.
If they try to escape I would tether
them with brass D-rings and claws.
I would travel the world fearless of loss.
To prevent any jealousy or conspiracy
to revolt, I must never put two of my
affections together in the same pocket
I would keep my favourite in the pocket
close to my heart. If a stray bullet hits,
I plan to die with my beloved.
