white clean clothes. young young girls on their feet.
for hours. holding trays and scalpels.
what props them up? what keeps them going?
10 hours haven’t wiped off the twinkle in their eyes.
why do they giggle when they walk in pairs?
blue clothes and badges. young young women on plastic chairs.
for hours. caps on neatly pinned hair.
why do they cackle as they march with their tiffin boxes?
everyday they pedal up this 9-5 road. and everyday the road gets steeper.
what makes them forget (for 30 minutes) the burning in their legs?
black blazers and close-toed shoes. young young ladies on revolving chairs.
for hours. sitting motionless like a robot.
what makes them talk over each other as they cycle back?
what do these girls have to laugh about?
maybe for the blazers, a delightful new information about a person they dislike.
for the security ladies, a sympathetic ear for their mother-in-law’s hypocrisy.
and for the nurses, a rumour that their hitler head nurse is getting divorced.
gossip-mongers, you call them. women.
this is sustenance. this is how the chains move.
this is how we ignore the burn in our legs, the pain in our heads.
this is why we grudgingly notice, on the way back,
the cyclic softness of the setting sun.
