Her house is two or three furlongs away
from where I now live
That's what I hear
They say, over there,
just down the Dandelion hill

Of course, to me
a furlong is no different from a kilometer or square
Math was never in my blood
Still, I have a plan

Some day, one day
I'll set foot outside
With steadfast stride
I'll walk the long walk to make it to her home
Carrying a flashlight, a bloodroot,
and a bottle of Bloody Mary
In a relatively hurry

Destiny her home

A furlong sounds far to me, and that too furthermore
It could be dark, rainy, invertebrates,
My thought is that if I make it by daybreak
By some stroke of luck

I'll put the bloodroot in her nonchalant hand
If I don't, can't, unluck, wet, foot
fungi, or bolt
I'll drown out my sorrow in the red Bloody Mary
Many have killed'em on the other side of the hill
That's what I hear
Most of them lying naked
Cold stiff 'n still
Blood sucked out of their
Empty nostril

Although they all had a might goal 'n stake
They made a mistake

It's obvious they didn't know the meaning of a furlong

Brooklyn, New York

Partha Banerjee's picture

I am a New York-based immigrant activist, labor educator, and writer. I write in English and Bengali.

Last updated August 23, 2015