The Fourth Dimension

Did you know?
The wet windshield
Of my car
My smooth and sleek car
Can show me things
You can’t see

The wet windshield
Of my car
Smooth and sleek car
Can show me
The distorted face
Of the peanut vendor
His face, leather face
Bears the brunt
Of fifty scathing summers
And nineteen thousand
Odd meals
Poor and tasteless
Nineteen thousand
Odd meals
Prepared by his wife
Old, gaunt and frail
In his dilapidated shack
Where every night
After getting drunk
On a bottle of rice beer
He beats his wife
Following the rituals
The tradition
And then sleeps, tries
With his old wife
The empty spaces
Filled with the permanent scent
Of children who grew
Too old to stay
The dilapidated shack
Host to the wind
Which mocks the host’s
Fragile, full-of-ribs frame
And the morning sun
Reeks havoc on his old
Bald head
Red and itchy
But his face
His distorted leather face
Bearing the brunt
Of fifty scathing summers
Does not submit

Didn’t I say?
The wet windshield
Of my car
My smooth and sleek car
Can show me things
You can’t see