CIVIL SLAVE

CIVIL SLAVE

In the morning they look blessed
the purple carpets of North End streets
the sun soft on the fallen blossoms
their scent gentle to the heart
as cars zip past on Athlone Avenue
workers off to work
kids skipping to school

I am the civil servant

Trudging to work
Collar frayed
Socks holed
Underwear torn
Shoe heels slanted
stomach empty
dreaming of the rice and chicken
the gleaming cutlery, the wine
that graces state house banquets