The Button-Eyed Boy
By Gargi Mehra
Zipping through traffic, inhaling
tire-black smog, I bump
along in the tuktuk, and spot
my warped likeness, whispering
in the tinted glass building
The boy with button eyes
draws my gaze. I fish
for toffees in my bag, and even
pull apart my empty pockets
Aaj nahin hai
Pointing at my wrist, he asks
Woh kya hai
I unravel the rainbow bracelet
from my hand to his tiny palm
with a chiselled smile, he scampers off
a bittersweet taste shipwrecks
my tongue, the signal
lightens from amber to green
He fades, merges, submerges
into the glass turret
Gargi Mehra is a writer, a computer engineer, and a mother. She plays the piano and thrives on word games including crosswords, Scrabble and Wordle. Her creative writing has appeared in several literary magazines online and in print. She lives with her husband and two children in Pune, India.