Tch ... tch.. isn't it
(by)Vaiyavan
A string of mutterings
as tinkling chicken bones
on porcelian plates
Over the uncleaned
Tables of a highway cafe.
Where the owlish eyed
toothy bearer
Stand seeking orders
From desperate customers
Sobbing for proper rationale
Of their lay- offs.
Will economy move
So compassionate as
Cleaners clearing the table?
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