CNS

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.