A man I know
(from film screenings and art fests
in the city)
came upto me and asked
What I think of the 'Me too'
movement. 
What can anyone think of it, 
really? Later, 
someone else asked about the
Aziz Ansari incident.

All I can tell you is I know
Aziz Ansaris in my life.
Meet, interact, fidget,
and forget
–if lucky.
What I cannot tell you however
Is the ball of nausea that rolls up 
from deep under my belly 
to my head making it dizzy 
when asked.
I do not think anything.
I do not think there's anything
To think.
You can mull over
A phrase. Or
Perhaps even a poem.
This is neither.
This is only a collective memory
of the stabs
We have received in
One lifetime.
I do not think there is anything
To think.