cemburu

my little brother would scrunch up his face
and say     this is eerie,    right now
because there’s mold on the ground and decaying corpses of
rodents when no one seems to take out the trash right.
breath holds in day break where i learnt
alternative inhalation techniques
where there’s always dirt marks on my feet
plunged into the open sewage picking cherries and
wave at the kerbau through the school fence at six

bule   in  the 
blue    overalls
old enough to be my father
speaks to me in mother tongue.
“you’re indonesian aren’t you?”
“jadi kenapa ngak ngerti?”
return in fragmented response.
not half in blood but half in
linguistics, seems like it
stresses water with a d and   
elongated.      mumbled with the
tradie pains, and aging ache.
color scheme like classic blue boy with the
light beige

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