Sitting in my AC car with windows rolled up
I see him coming closer with big strides,
Desperate to sell the stuff he carries -
Books, magazines, flowers, incense sticks...
He keeps thumping at the window
Sometimes pleading, sometimes abusing,
I see him, but pretend not to see him
I hear him, but pretend, I am deaf.
I pray for my indifference to work
I wait for his patience to wear out
I keep looking at the traffic light
Hoping for it to quickly turn green.
He gives up finally, runs to another car
Where he meets another one - blind and deaf,
I never see him selling his stuff
I wonder, why he keeps coming to the junction.