Animal Blood

Somewhere along a gravelled path,
a man sits cross legged
watching a rooster and a cat fight.

His shoes half fallen apart
in a brown colouring,
that was once white-washed on
by children in China.

The cat claws to the roosters eyes,
and the rooster falls to the ground,
bleeding.

The cats coat shines in the sun,
and the roosters blood trickles
over the path.

In a small town,
just outside Mumbai,
a man picks up a long distance telephone call,
asking for help with their computer.

A few weeks ago,
this Indian man had been
traditionally wrapped up in robes,
quietly mourning the death of his father,
who died from cancer.

The cat pounces on to the rooster,
clawing at its skin.

A feather falls on the man watching,
still peacefully cross-legged.

Behind him,
two women on a lunch break stare in disgust,
but then walk away
and smoke menthol cigarettes.


In India,
the man tells the caller to hold,
as he searches through his manuals
for the answers.

By this time,
the roosters blood is thick on the pathway
and slowly stains into the grey,
worn pants of the watching man.

In China,
a slave-like teenager falls a sleep at 3 AM,
after making 17 childrens Nikes for the day.

He tosses around
under a thin blanket,
cold and unpurposeful,
wishing that he could fall asleep
forever.


The rooster heaves up,
tumbling around
as if it were drunk.
The man watching
still has his legs crossed,
though the roosters blood
has now well and truely stained
into his grey pants.

The Indian man answers the phone,
reading straight from the guide-book
in as good as he could English.

The Chinese teen has a dream
about a girl who he knew many years ago,
but hasn't seen since.

And the rooster tries to fly away.