Storm in a Summer Evening

A storm in an early evening
In summer,
Power failure,
A small gathering in front
Of an inconspicuous tea stall
A kettle hissing over
Blue red flames,

Gossips, comments
On war and election
Voices drift into the air
Sticky with the smell of dust and boredom,

An amber moon
In the storm-rent sky mocks
At the blind street lamps
Lined up on both sides of the street
Littered with gust-blown dirt,

Paper cups filled three-fourth
With brown, frothy liquid
Pass from hand to hand,

The evening deepens, and
The crumpled cups are tossed to the
Streetside gutter,

Voices thin out
Nothing much left to talk about
Most topics are touched
All logics are debated upon,

Only raw, unvoiced resentment
Is stuck in the moist throat
Like a paper snake,

Only a dull, indefinite waiting
For the streetlights to
Spring back to life,
And for the street to receive
The feet dragging homeward.