We all were parts in a muted mayhem.
Heads in the flow and contra-flow, eddy and ebb.
So many SALE! signs there was no room
for merchandise. A surge seemed to aim me exactly
where I wanted to be. At the intersection’s edge
came the detonation of an amplified and syncopated
fiddle-guitar duo. I wondered why nobody
took any notice. Perhaps because they were accustomed
to ignoring asterisks of alcoholics usually to be found here.
But the crowd itself was intoxicated beyond the point
of oblivion. And I am addicted to observing. Inquisitive.
Contemplative. Apart. And the music carried us all
like serous fluid in a central nervous system. We were ions
crossing spaces, passing through entrances programmed
to let us in or out. Destined for where all would
make a difference. Checkouts. Customer service desks.
Taxis. Bus terminals. Home, the door we must unlock.