Morning Digression

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Watch

I watch. I hide from the swift morning sunlight, Saul in his cave, leaning against a windowpane. The long wait in midstride as I shift my weight from good to bad to good and back again. The city smells of warm bread and early rains as I throb in time with my heartbeat. I’m just like that.

I watch. Children tumble past in focused, uneasy clots. Four minutes to second bell. A woman crosses my gaze like the Wife of Bath, I follow form and figure coming and going. Knockoff jeans top pale thong top filigree tattoo. Standing water seduces a wasp. I am as invisible as doubt. I’m just like that.

I watch. I roll the toy in my hand like a Polish madonna. Black leather case feels like sin wrapped in saints as it flips from back to front to back in my palm. I hold it like a psalter, like a sigil, like a relic as if it proved my caste, my school, my guild. Men of the West, indeed. I’m just like that.

I watch. I peel myself off the store, leaving the ads for hand cream behind. The next stage arrives as I let the girl with the dead hand go before me. I change toys as I settle, drop a few words into the fountain as the music plays too loud. I plan the tasks for the day, count waiting cash, sort text and people, begin the begine. Awaiting a messiah on an express local.

I’m just like that.

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1 Comment

  1. Well put.

    For all I live in text, even away from the computer, I’m almost supernally visual. The world comes in through my eyes, I’ve often said, and I watch more than I speak, many, many days of my life.

    For what it’s worth, for good or bad, this almost feels like one of my days out, people-watching, world-watching. Waiting for the next thing to go bang, or watching beauty unfold, small to large, or simply watching time move, moving people and trees and birds and wind in its staggered wake.


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