The orphanage idled in the crucifiying heat.
Children melted into their iron cots.
Wet-eyes lolling behind the bars.
The nuns were kind.
They filmed the children - for posterity.
Much later a projector showed frames of
children blinking in a smudgy run of '60s Cine colour.
The nuns sent images of round-eyed tots to the red tops.
But kindness couldn't take away poverty or save posterity.
Didn't pay for the food or the clothes or the trips to a new home.

Outside a three legged dog spun circles in the dust.
A paper kite flapped in the rooftops.
And the dirty river heaved its mass from bank to bank.
The cries from the floating market could be heard
rattling down lean-to alleyways;
Knocking on the doors of lazybed merchants.

A row boat slimed with river grease
Slipped to dock.
From it stepped two Christian folk.
Full of piety and good intentions.
They took the baby.
Said they'd love it and bring it up Christian.
The baby mewled for its nun.
Pawing at its new mum.
All the way back.
Across many seas and countries.
To a new home.
With Christian folk.
Who meant well but didn't do well.
Not well at all.

Her new home.
From her window.
In the room she shared with the other adoptee.
She watched leaves falling from the trees.
She grew taller and taller.
And as soon as she could she left the family.