A Voyeur's Catharsis

By Varun Anjarlekar

They're at their usual spot, those two,

Who are in more decent company arm in arm,

With others, a spouse, I needn't elaborate who,

To evade discovery, how they must their betrotheds charm.

He goes there again, this time more rapidly,

To see the face of his heart's thief, the flower shop owner's daughter,

She exchanges pleasantries, as he speaks vapidly,

Of his duties, bringing to her business like the lamb to the slaughter.

The elderly dame that lives on the end of the street,

Has now made her appearance, though not an elaborate one,

Touched in the head, though in temperament sweet,

She nicks what she calls trinkets, she tells me it's for fun.

And in walks the chairman, from his little hideout,

Where he has hidden much more than secrets and dirt,

Incognito, this mellow town is suitable for carrying about,

In ways that would make one reevaluate what it is worth.

Not far away are the handymen of the town,

Who spend much on their business and more on their liquor,

They can fix anything in bolts and screws that shuts down,

Some say they shut it down themselves; the money flows in quicker.

On the table at the far left sits that aging owl,

Who calls himself an actor, learning his lines,

His only role being in 'Of Herons and Peafowl',

Which is a bedeviling script that bedazzled his aged mind.

For this traffic the barista exhibits tremendous grace,

A feat not common among her kind when expecting,

She takes it in her stride, with a smile always on her face,

I wonder if she sees in them what I do; that smile is misdirecting.

For paucity of tables I sit opposite a lad,

Who of late has taken to this cafe patronising,

He oft asks me for my opinions, good or bad,

And had he a better vocabulary he'd call them galvanising.

His parents are the editors of a small time newspaper,

And with a trusty source and a careful intermediary,

I imagine that this supply of information would with the right taper,

Suffice for our little town's proverbial incendiary.

No one takes notice of me, and that is no setback,

For it allows me to see through their otherwise guileless guises,

And yes, I admit to pleasure to hear them 'alay' and 'alack',

And the value of information thusly swells and rises.

By Varun Anjarlekar