|WATCHING A RIVER FLOW|
|by Charles P. Ries|
|(March 24th, 2004)|
|The Third Street river is flowing cool
and slow. It’s high and tight on Friday night.
Bum walks by imitating the hype
and clean...but smelling like a bar floor.
He’s listening...to something on the
D Battery he’s pressed to the side of his head.
It’s not a tune - he’s not humming.
It’s not a prophetic vision - he’s not glowing.
Bag lady dances near the dumpster looking like
a helium balloon. She’s the gravitational center
of a plastic bag she wears for warmth. A planet
stuffed full of bathroom tissue and old newspapers.
She’s humming...something too.
In her mind she hears a hit parade.
Damp and 50 degrees doesn’t prevent Ms. Candy
Cane from showing off 80% of her six foot frame
with only 8% body fat. Her boyfriend looks nervous
holding this long, lanky love stick. Worried she
might float away like tissue in a soft breeze.
Bums and bunnies drift past me like minstrels in a
marching band. The river is leading me downstream.
ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE. COM
|© 2004 zygoteinmycoffee Ink.|