for him, red means go.
he rolls his wheelchair around
to trade flowers for food
among impatient cars
waiting for their turn to rule the streets.
i stare at him from inside the
comfortable car
wondering why i have legs and he has none
and how
alienated he is in my world and how alienated i am in his.
he wipes beads of sweat on his forehead
while i sink my back on the seat and close my eyes
and redirect the AC
grills to my neck.
i long for sleep and perhaps he does too.
we complain of the same sun.
i look at him and he looks at me.
he’s not pressed for a deadline today
and i’m not chained on my seat.
outside
the billboard promises me
of whiter teeth and fresher breath.
green means go for me.
