there are a bunch of weirdos on this street at night. vierdos,
if i may be polite. v for vampire, ierdo for weird.
3 in the morning, a light rain on my windshield, the streets are deserted, the shops all locked up. even the moon abandoned them tonight,
yet somehow some of them have missed their tuck in, shut eye, bedtime rush.
there's the couple in spandex, headbands and big hair, head banging on the sidewalk, big smiles, clenched teeth....i wonder, what if i walked by...?
would i hear the music, suddenly, if i wasn’t driving by?
up ahead a man in black stands in the middle of the street.
others stand behind him and they all observe me. i slow down and pass on by. non-threatening, they just wonder why. when i round the corner, their heads turn to that bus that will never come.
creepy and calm. a big, large man...in a lit doorway of the legion hall, cigarette in his mouth. he watches me. as i park. as i watch him in my rearview mirror, side mirror, over my shoulder. he watches me. as i open the door, grab my stuff. as i walk away and pretend to not look back.
i wonder what he’s thinking. i wonder why he stands there, where he’s from.
veirdos.
they adorn the strip,
they appear out of nowhere
trailing behind,
peeking from the shadows, from the sidestreet alleyways caked in mud.
wondering what you've got,
expecting it to no longer be mine.
not those rustling through the tossed treasures in the bins outside, but the ones who scream for mercy from the dogs in the dead of night.
not the ones who live in doorways too lifeless to even steal. not those collected in pairings to keep warm, to double their dime. they know no harm. a young man walks, he knows not who follows. two short blocks up, out front of the sausage house, a bohemian prayer circle meant only to trip him up. am i witness as for his caution? should i offer him a ride? what if his night has gone sour? what if it’s him with the gun?
i turn away. at some point, i too, might have been a veirdo in the night.
during the day, they've no where to hide, it's all the same, during the day they have faces, some toothless, lips high, eyes squinting, arms waving in the midst of traffic jams, the drivers all watch, amused at the red light as the veirdo in the parking lot argues. with god. argues with man. argues with nature. argues with what we have yet to overcome.
who is he talking to? where is his mind? perhaps his is real? maybe i just don’t understand. what happens to him
after day’s turned to night?
Ldm
