FLANEUR
Reading Christopher Isherwood along the
city sidewalk - a cantilevered street, with
people overhead. The wide crowd pulses
around me. Highline. Lowline. The same
perverse junk. That man in the fedora,
thinking he's Henry Gold, walks by as a regal
scold. His woman, with him, scowls down from
some nagging height. Fifteen legions dense,
the people are watched by the ranger with
the clicker in her hand - carefully counting
heads. I walk up to her, smiling, and say -
'can you count me twice?' She smiles back,
and says, 'no problem, good as done.'
I swoop my hand over her neck, and plant
a kiss on her bureaucratic face.
'Please remember me, just this
way, forever,' I ask of her.
'I am a camera, looking
at you.'
Reading Christopher Isherwood along the
city sidewalk - a cantilevered street, with
people overhead. The wide crowd pulses
around me. Highline. Lowline. The same
perverse junk. That man in the fedora,
thinking he's Henry Gold, walks by as a regal
scold. His woman, with him, scowls down from
some nagging height. Fifteen legions dense,
the people are watched by the ranger with
the clicker in her hand - carefully counting
heads. I walk up to her, smiling, and say -
'can you count me twice?' She smiles back,
and says, 'no problem, good as done.'
I swoop my hand over her neck, and plant
a kiss on her bureaucratic face.
'Please remember me, just this
way, forever,' I ask of her.
'I am a camera, looking
at you.'
No comments:
Post a Comment