it's like we're bathing a baby: me tilting

the cooler, you filling it with water.

after the last cigarette is lit its box

becomes the ashtray. we're crawled up

inside. you drink smoke, i breathe

diesel, both lighter than the rain

in which we hid in the waterdrum

forgetting that i was the denner.

the past is here, sandpapered, paperweighed.

who'll go get it like a good god?

~ ajay

1/10/2024

first appeared in the bombay literary magazine