99 in the shade built on brittle bones of
coolie slaves,
sucking in dirt and debris for a pop tart –
glitter-back ballerina tee,
you’re top of the crop,
made in Sir G’s, Bangladeshi –
slavery -sweat shop,
cloth cities, built on the chai- coloured wheeze
of blossoming pulmonary disease, and
yellow ridged knuckles of puny bare bone stretched over
malnourished toes
—-
The choking yoke of childhood
smothered by the greedy
hiss of sewing machines
and pink silk, fairy fingers
picking, and pulling the seams – of a
a million or more dead-eye dreams
—-
Made with care, little tots
too small to sit on chairs,
balance on boxes cross legged –
their playtime: needles and
pins gouging , pricking ,
pus the bin.
—-
So when you slide on your skinnies – thigh pride blue or
rock those curves in hipsta flares
you also share,
Salma’s rickets, in those –
riveted ridges,
and her grandmother’s tears
sewn in the pockets
—-
Factory owners creaming the dream
part of Monaco’s
glorious elite,
sovereign state pride,
‘gap,’ country club smiles,
while children of Calcutta,
bare-back the pain of
pig-profit gain –
paying for a Black Friday,
price freeze
on worn riven knees
—
Slap them into place
A dime dollar disgrace –
wow wow pickaninny please –
Buy me -Buy me -Buy me
and the fist of servitude punches blue -punches green
Buy -me -Buy me
Till the milksops bleed.
Saira Viola
Illustration: cYberbanX