Playing in the Car Park
Sitting in the Focus, last slot of the third row,
parallel to the concrete island of puny, ornamental trees,
I soak in 360 degrees of multihued metal, yellowish lights, and movement.
As a lurker who spends time in parking lots, my vision is optimized for scoping several moving subjects at once.
Not as segments but as sauce.
Not as meat patties but as the whole living cow.
As a lurker, I will not open the red wine, I will not boil the pasta in salty water, I will not dine.
As a lurker, who harvests parking lots, I feed on impressions. I feed on the contagion of other people’s addictions (OPA).
As they shop and dine and parlay, I contemplate the end.
K. Shawn Edgar | Path Walker | Chrome Leaf | Sub-Pharmacy Poet