Khayaban-e-Ghazi road:
Red light, stop.
Knock! Knock!
Can I have some money?
God bless you and your family.
Can I have some money?
At our window, the old man begs
AC leaks from the corners of our white Lexus.
The tan leather seats provide safety and comfort for our family.
The dam of privilege is broken.
Two limbs remaining.
Two wooden structures in place for each leg.
Mismatched foam flip flops.
A kameez dusted with mud,
stained with tobacco,
and absorbed with the stench of Pakistani gutters.
My eyes recede under the influence of shame,
body numb, clogged with feelings.
Please! Please! Can I have some money?
Crinkled change from a dinner outing,
converted to the old man’s meal for two days.
The red light of income flickers.
Pivot, wobble, limp.
Crooked teeth on display,
Squinting eyes filled with mirth.
Pivot, wobble, limp.
The dusty pavement has been reached.
His weak hand lifts up,
like a salute from a soldier.
At the dusty rocks he waits
for the light of income to shine again.
Nour Gajial, is currently a sophomore at Lakeside High School in Washington. Most of the time you might find her drawing, writing, or rowing on Lake Washington. In her free time she enjoys listening to music and spending time with her three-year-old brother.