When the flooding in the basement got worse
she slipped into a silly dress
and danced to The Best of Nirvana.
The way she fell on the divan, her
arms open — The best thing for stress —
you could have been some guy brought home
to read Confessions of an English Opium
Eater louder over Kurt’s guitars,
some guy who would spend the evening
cross-legged on a tatami mat,
listening for the words between the words.
Youth is wasted on the young
and wisdom on the old, you know that,
like the call of a rare, flightless bird.
From: These Errors are Correct
Publisher: Tranquebar (Eastwest and Westland), Delhi, 2008
