Hey, Here I Am
an act forbidden by condo regs . . .
so the story slipped beneath the door
of every unit claims. Justice wants only
an emergency to meander onto
the building's rusty braces. Who caught
this alleged infidelity? And was there no
opportunity to identify the one
who trespassed? We've been warned,
and next time monetary damages
will be assessed. Hallelujah. Rules
writhe like snakes in the pit of our
disrespect. If I had a laptop, I'd take
this piece of protest out the window.
Barefoot, so the steel mesh could
imprint my soles with temporary scars.
Naked maybe, too. Why not stand before
the empty offices of the Hancock Tower,
backlit by my pedestrian living quarters?
I might yell, there is no emergency . . .
beyond my imagination gnawing
at its leash. Perhaps a neighbor would
report such vehement maundering.
Perhaps the gods who manage the ridiculous
would stop to applaud . . . good work,
vigilant neighbor . . . to be awake and able
to spy an unclothed vagabond,
who only wanted someone
to find him.
No comments:
Post a Comment