JIMMY

Jimmy sits with his hands held out to the stove.

He’s worked on this houseboat for forty years.

Since he was a child. Now he wants to leave.

His boss exploits him, and his poverty

Cannot be smoked away with a hash pipe.

In the war, in 95, his village was destroyed

By the Indian army, supposedly hunting

Terrorists. Now his family live in huts, without

Electricity, with no end in sight to their mis-

Fortune. He stares at the stove, smoking a

Uruguayan cigarette, his face creased by the

Weariness of a life of harsh Winters, Kashmir

Cold, and an abrupt despair which can never

Be mended. But up on the houseboat roof,

In the morning sun, Jimmy tells me how he likes

To go water-skiing on the lake in the Summer.

He says he loves the Summer months, when the

Warmth cradles his bones. At night he stares at

The stove again, and holds his hands up, like a

Prayer, to ward off the encroaching Winter.

+++