Idle Observations

There is a man from across the street
who fashions old buttons on fray trousers
and who puts an ending, heavy borders
to my new silk crepe sarees

he sits with his legs strumming the machine and his eyes on the road
to check if he needs to smile
at anyone he knows

there is a laundry guy who waits
behind him
like his conscience
in a stained banyaan

a measuring tape over his neck
(for god knows what)
who makes a receipt for every
dry cleaning item you give him

a carbon stuck in his notebook
he hardly looks;
he stares
with connivance

unlike the tailor
who is easy
and waiting to please