From the favela
From the favela the lady went down to view.
From the intimate bustle,
And the touch of human clamour.
From behind the curtain of discretion
And the secret warmth of home.
Where the forgotten forest forces through fissures
Of encasing concrete.
Away from the privacy of alienation
That welcome mutter
A side step on the upward step or down.
No grand façade or colourful display.
To the motorway to somewhere
And the mighty silver glitter stage for the world
To gaze upon.
The backdrop of nondescript haunts
The space for the mundane in carefully selected costumes
The paraders must not catch the watcher’s eye.
The energetic power-walkers
With bouncing golden bosoms
Thighs honed to perfect and buttocks trimmed.
Here the forest must not appear,
Only a strategically placed palm
Its emerald fronds bow only when directed.
The sculpted children and coiffured hounds
Obediently maintain jovial front.
For the lady who keeps her distance
Behind her conveniently placed and chilled coconut water.