SUNDAY: COMPLEX PARTIAL SEIZURE SEVEN
I had a song in my head which wouldn’t go away.
Big wheel keep on toinin was the first line of the chorus.
And now I am fixated by this water wheel, inside the cafe.
Beautiful, grand, thudding, hissing, geometric iron friend.
But it is becoming another trigger. I ought to leave here.
Sod it, what is there to lose? A few seconds of consciousness?
And half a cup of coffee, hopefully spilled on somebody else’s lap.
The constant rotating is fascinating yet boring.
The drips leave each spoke at the same place every time: the first
as if from an eyebrow shaken, the second like a squirt.
And the same geometry rocking back and forth.
Sure enough, here comes the seizure. Nothing more than a tingle,
puckering of lips, chewing movements, interrupted breathing.
Piece of cake. Thinks: I deserve one of those to go with this coffee.
And from behind the counter a new tape starts to play:
Creedance Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary. How appropriate.