Indiranagar, 2300, 07/30
Ananya Venkateswaran
the Big Men,
emboldened by
cheap pale ale and
sundown and
the cricket bats they pretend to know how to wield
clang pots and pans and billhooks. they are
Big men, strong as the names on the
flimsy cricket jerseys they flaunt and
strong as the rounds that shoot their eyes bloody and
strong as the bruises ‘round wives’ quivering eyes. they are big
men, and grandfathers and girls alike look down when they pass and close their windows and their eyes and burrow down in their blankets, ignoring big men,
marching in drunken, teary circles around
a dusty temple with offerings
no god wants.
