He sits in the hall with a
Bottle of Old-Monk,
Demanding half-fried omelets
And bhindi fry-
Seventh time this week.
She oils the pan. Tries to keep
The yolk intact while sprinkling
Chilly powder and salt.
After the fourth peg or the fifth?
She waits there in anticipation
Of beatings from him.
With a fake smile as armor
That's never enough.
Just the Seventh day of the week.
Tomorrow, the first again.