The brick laden road of the 12th Enclave
Guides me to the pop-up stall.
I haven’t been here in 5 years,
Yet I know the way
Like a conquistador through a jungle

I turn the corner
And approach the sitting man.
I hand him my sweaty money,
And in return, I am greeted with
4 breads and two pots of rich stew.

I could close my eyes on the journey back
And hop over each missing brick and crack
Without troubling my heart.
The dung from the cows is a pungent smell.
It embraces my nose as I head back to my grandma.

I push open the metal gates to the compound,
Take off my shoes at the door,
And walk towards her with my feet on the cold tile floor.
I hand her the warm parcel of breakfast and the change.
For my arduous voyage, I am reimbursed in antique kisses.