Solace in a stuffed chilli

One soar high heeled foot steps out
Tittering under the weight of the sagging love handles,
An aching lower back..
Propels two tired legs..

Into the little crucible..
High up on the 8th floor..
Beyond where the canopies of the trees can reach..
Where only the dust clouds of the day
Hover...
Ominously

The air reeks of worn clothes,
Unwashed undies
And my phlegm crushing breakfast
Peppered with garlic, tamarind and turmeric

Barricaded by 4 thick-thin walls,
Thick - to compress my world within
Thin – to allow the cacophony of “flat-life” to seep in..
Roaches.. ah my beloved friends..
Sucking the juice from a half eaten chicken pie
With blue-green fungi, coloring its crusty rim

Misplaced bras wink from their hiding places,
Stuck inside armchair nooks,
Spilling out of the laundry basket..

There is TV to watch..
A few texts to send..
More emails to check..
Facebook to update..
May be a movie to download..

IF NOT
There is work
IF NOT
there is (more) studies
IF NOT.. IF NOT

Aaah!,..
Everything can wait..
Until I find some solace..
Digging into my therapist of the day..
A juicy, hot stuffed chilli