The woman with tuber hands puts
	tubers to lips, puts tubers to heart.
Could she catch a coin if I even threw it?

The man-spider crosses next to the curb,
	locomotes on rusted rods_
Outstretched eyes search the faces above.

The bone girl comes last, begging basket
	laced in plastic petals.
She carries a baby caked in soot.

The driver tells us not to do it, 
	but how can we resist?
Coins and bills trickle from the vents.

Their anguish is palpable; their anguish is gone.
Their joy is palpable; their joy is gone.

They are palpable; they are gone.
	The bus moved on. 

//DELHI TOLL STATION//