pop pop pop

Air rifles and their operators

bouncing down the road

motorized bikes whizzing and sputtering

piggy backed children

gazing up to the tree tops for squirrels and birds

rice blankets the muddy terraces

carved over centuries

by countless generations of cultivators

we are here to watch the cycles

threshing, burning, fertilizing

planting, screaming, banging

banana leaf plates

left high and low

for spirits and Gods

with rice balls, oyster crackers

kumquats and dime store candies

insane levels of ritual

pure devotion to the clan

so many green plates

hand crafted daily

Food stuffs

like pig belly, guts and skin

cleaned and fried

laid out carefully for munching

over rice

Dogs, dogs

one rabid

running rough-shod

and a man

with a net

little tiny nibblet filled packages

absolutely everywhere

collected by the cleansing Hindu waters

huge volcanos

brought all to the shores

for a simple communal experience

Now many are here

lost and found

grabbing and giving

the simple offerings