THE FOLLOWING POEM HAS BEEN SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

cars roll to a collective stop

at a traffic light turning red

engines sputter in the stale delhi heat;

the sun blares down on a tangerine head

a sign of malnutrition they say

and yet she performs her

routine contortionist tricks

family standing by, collecting their weekly wage

young ladies shave their beards

and weave through lanes of rolls royce and bmw

asking for sips of water in dented silver pails

jingling with change

from otherwise much more benevolent strangers

strangers who keep their eyes locked straight ahead

strangers whose pockets grow heavier as each second ticks by

strangers who, if, by chance, feel a twinge of guilt

look the young girl in her eyes, and see nothing strange at all

think to reach into their pockets

too little too late:

the light’s already turned green.