Seated at the corner
I see the vehicles pass me by
The traffic of runaway traction
And I holding on to my beige coat.
I have a Big Mac, a coke and a little apple pie in my hand.
My so called American lunch.
I’m immovable from this moment.
Stuck in a rot in my own cyclic days
Of the circadian rhythms
Looping around forward to back
To play one day forward
And I look at the pigeons around
How they know how to home in
How they appear to be carefree
Nonchalant of the surroundings
And I conscious of everything around
The clang, the drip, the whistle, the horn
The loud mouth and even my
Jaws munching a patty.
And I’m my worst enemy. Of how
I let time idle me. Wanting a caress
Of something; wind, woman even whore,
To find a way out. An exit sign that exiles
Me, to something organic.
And then I suddenly feel my hair in the wind
And I start walking to my gay barber
Suddenly the day has turned downside up
I was going for a chat, to what he loves
Talking about – his sugar daddy.
And I will walkaway 30 minutes later
In tune with the world. Of how a little conversation
With the unlikeliest person, makes your day.
And what else but a familiarity with someone
To make an impression. We are social animals
Clouded only by the need to be free in gab.
And I am freed by my own tongue
To decay the meat of my own experience
And lend it to another ear. That’s how
Little Italian cafes are run; how little Baghdad
Bazaars become noisy markets; how
Human wakes up human from the slumber
Of a hulahoop that recycles dawn and that’s how
We make a living, scrapping together
Little tongue strolls, down a boulevard
Spanning the unspannable.