Patched Armpits

One stiletto heel lying on a bin.

One dress-shirt fluttering on a clothesline,

Armpits patched. One head drawn hastily in,

Eyes still boring into my covered hair -

Fain would I seethe, but the glassy-eyed rage,

Like hooked fish flailing, is too much the twin

Of a desi Aunty's -

I end up laughing like the background track

Of a comedy. The passersby stare -

This time with good reason. So I smile back

At them, and wonder how, when they go home

They will tell this story. Will they just crack

Jokes? Or will their mockery be checked, 

Like my wrath,

By a memory?