A fire flares
   up Mosque Road.

Orange flames burn brightly 
    beyond the ovals lit by 
    feeble streetlamps.

Some fat 's hit the fire,
    and the smoke 's
    rising high.

The throngs have arrived --
    hungry & huddled,
    with tiny plates of 
    jiggly cubed meat.

The pious --
    angry stomachs, 
    vibrating to sundown

&

Impious Instagrammers
    (or, at least, substantially less pious,)
    having their eighth tiny meal
    of the day
    (some spit into a bucket, Hollywood-style.)

All gathered to break bread --
    except there is no bread
    (save the occasional roomali roti) 

So, instead, they bite basa or mutton 
    or chicken or camel or prawns --

all smoky

all devoured.