Vot am I doing?

Sitting in the cool,
conditioned booksellers cafe,
when I hear, "I'm really offended
you suggested that. Sir,"
cross little rosy-cheeked white waitress,
rosier,
flustered at not-so-white accusation,


While I searched for my voice,
words which
may well be vords,
vich vell may, BE words.
I am a hindi-spiced English
speaker you see,


Distracted by the dispute
and rosy cheeks, pretending
aspiring to be rosy, rhythmic
poetic
like the girl in the bookseller's cafe
caught-up writing,
by the vindow
contemplating her voice.