'bhaiyya ek chicken momo'

across the table, he stands
and takes my barking order.
his upper lip yet unfurnished with a manly bush,
his arms thin as stick; no broader.

the accident of birth that pits
us across this gulf of money
yawns to remind me of who i am
every single moment.

all he does is nervously smile;
perhaps his first day at the booth,
among many countless more to come,
foreshadowed on the dying embers of his youth.

across the table, he stands,
and takes the world's barking order.
perhaps only half-understanding his fate,
too young to be led to a slow, life-long slaughter.

the accident of birth separates us.
the gulf between us: this table.
years of prejudice and misplaced entitlement
root us unshakably to our life's station.