Well, I guess that was all it : I turned
at Elizabeth Street and headed west. Or
I thought it was; can't tell. The bridge
going east was under reconstruction.
That much I know, and it was quite
apparent. One lane in a shared direction.
No, that's not right : one direction in
a shared lane. I think that's better.
Whatever it was, the person with the
hand held stop sign would wait until
traffic cleared from the other zone,
and being signaled, then we'd move
on. A funny system, like a horse and
buggy thing, I thought.
There was an ocean out there somewhere;
past all this. In the wet and mist, all those
boats wrapped in shrink-wrapped white
plastic, well, looked stupid, and so like
ghosts, piled high. If I had to live there,
and live with that for scenery 6 months
along, I don't think I'd even try. How
depressing can things get? The ocean's
there, two bridges on, but you can't see
it, and all the boats are smothered in
white plastic for the long, cold season.
All these houses looked tiny and small
but done up newly, in nice siding and
all those doors and windows of the
modern day. They think that's great,
I suppose, but any day, I'd rather see
some white old painted ratty bungalow
than this pretend-estate stuff everywhere.
Like a mind, all wrapped in pre-suppositions,
these shrink-wrapped worlds are deadly
with edge. Let the bloods flow, -
everything needs opening up.