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Routine
A dark, handsome woman, worn out with child bearing
and a wisp of a girl, in a torn frock--
they move in unison as they walk to work,
mother and daughter, sharing intimate whispers,
barefoot, tinkling anklets, at the break of dawn.
At the sound of the car, the daughter turns,
transfixed. It is a shining new sedan
and its colour hurts the eyes in the early morning light.
It passes smartly, crunching the gravel underneath.
Gently, the mother draws the child away
and urges her on to the daily routine.
