yells, shouts, screeches

       they fill the dust smothered air.

  glaring red of

                      warning lights pierce through the fog of

sand and smoke.

               the honking, crying, howling of

                  mud covered second hand cars and bikes

infiltrate our windows.

in our little safe haven

in the form of an air-conditioned

shiny, white Corolla

your hand flies to the armrest

knuckles white, muscles tight,

pupils blown out wide

Thud. Thud.

a man with a hollow face

     stares blankly into our car

          opened mouth with drips of saliva

          falling.

his hands

    they crumble

         as they reach out towards us

in desperation

Honk. Honk.

A motorbike carrying a

     family of four;

kids have cheeks crusted with grey pollution

           the mother shoulders a torn bag

   the father’s bloodshot eyes penetrate

the window of our car.

it’s okay. keep your eyes straight.

but that doesn’t change the fact that

the colony of people are all

staring

at us

and our shampooed hair

and our Adidas jackets

in our air-conditioned car

(am I a bad person for feeling so afraid?)