Under the shelter

Under the malachite green shelter, there were men,
Four or five, occasionally more.
They gathered at noon for a smoke, a thin stick
For each, transparent against their off-white forms.

They would watch the main gate together
From their simple chairs like silent birds, and
Wait for the clock to strike one
To disappear.

On the other side of the clearing,
There was another, a group of women 
Perching like panthers
With their impeccable concentration

And their crisp black hair 
Full of appetence. They smoked as they watched the men.
They moved with lithe about the wooden planks,
Shifting from shade to shade

Under the heat. A summer's turn, a change of view,
A brilliant coup d'état—no one was quite sure when,
But it happened then, before the men could react.
The women moved in place of the men.

And they also watched under the shelter
From their plastic thrones (like the men before them), 
Only not at the gate. No, they huddled instead, facing
The veer and the shadows of their soles.

Dale Chou
2012-06-13