Monday, 6 June 2011

Crummy Chums

The room is musty, the sofa creaky
Old magazines, its pages tattered keeping company the lonely
Apt description for the kopiah wearing Pakcik (or is it Haji?)
All the way he came, paid 25 bucks for a ride in a taxi
To meet one who must surely be somebody
Inside a room, a secretary in front, so pretty

Reads, stands, sits, paces
Every once in a while he peers
At the young lady looking so earnest
A smile so sullen in caught glances

It’s his fault, this long wait, the Pakcik swears
Took the odd few minutes away performing his prayers
Could have well been the time he reached his queue
He tried, he did, queried for a clue if said was true
Didn’t want to pester the secretary too much
Don’t wish to be called an old grouch

He sighs, curls his lips slight
Second to minutes to hours passed
A small window of moment was all he needed
To tell that someone his very plight

The door open, solid wood adorned
From within earshot, laughter’s heard
Two men? Could, too, be a third
Guffaws, chatters, a merriness none awkward
Old friends, perhaps, the Pakcik guesses a hazard

Three, indeed, they passed him by
Quick glances, none which registered
The Pakcik had stood, had smiled, the smile since faded
Realising he was all but invisible

“Pakcik datang lain kali.”
“Hari ni tak boleh. Datuk busy.”
He smiled a smile that’s weary
Thinking he was simply, surely unlucky
To not be in the list, of people chummy
As down in the corridor, the laughter, noisy
Shoulders slapping, the warmest camaraderie

To be in the list, of people so chummy

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