Now every time I hear the drums,
A heart of me escapes a beat.
It triggers some uneasy hours
Of helpless stuckness in my back
That arched to mind the ceiling of
The ambulance we travelled in.
The coldness of the ambulance
Was not as cold as what I touched
Beneath the starchy white linen
That smelled of mothballs stretching arms.
The flowers, basil, incense sticks,
Leftover nebulizer scent,
The flatulence of driver-guy,
Suppressed my foul incompetence,
Whose fetid reeking now effuses
Every time I hear the drums.
Another heart of me refuses
Turning into trampled crumbs.