By Meghna Mallik
They noticed that, I think.
I cried once, upon a tuppence,
The polygraph said I should;
“But kindly,” everyone’s behest,
Didn’t they know
That I had cried before?
I laughed then, upon a tavern,
The roof reeked of tiny ghosts;
“Stop please,” they earnestly bled,
Didn’t you know
That I had never laughed before?
I screamed thus, upon a cat,
The washing machine cradled me;
“Quiet down,” the feline scarred,
It didn’t care
That a scream had died stillborn.
I searched again, upon the Chrysler,
The sky seemed a boundless ocean;
“Just once,” the waves uttered at last,
I didn’t care,
That a seabed lost another seashell.
No one noticed that, I hope.
By Meghna Mallik