The copper warms up 
toward the end of the interrogation,
says, “Every death is a murder afterall.”
The slow ones, I guess, pass undetected.

How far down am I in mine?
Even my kin who lives upstairs, 
doesn’t know. He can only try, provoke.

Outside feels fresh and minty.
Outside, the conversation continues 
over a cup of chai latte.
The copper sports two burnt lips.
He has a taste-impaired tongue, and he
loves to detail about his ulcer 
now that I am, instead of being a person 
of interest, a victim.




Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor


Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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