Darker the Barker:
Or Madrid Squeals Mercurials
M, do you remember the line of puckered spider bites along your backbone? I said they were there — four or five — touching each one with my thumb tip. You said, French Dip; and we threw on yesterday’s clothing going out the door.
In the lobby restaurant at Toby’s, we soy-sauced our sour cream apple flapjacks. You had a second breakfast of French Dip on a club roll with pickle spears, and I followed up with a French tricolor banana-split-malted milkshake.
M, do you remember our walk along the greenways after breakfast at Toby’s? Interlocked fingers, a breeze from the East, and a brief string of kisses while sitting on the bench next to the sleeping homeless man. We are and are not alone and together. One from one, out of many. More or less.
The green spaces and parks here act as lungs for an aging city; we’ve smoked too long from the broken pipeline of crude oil and coal. More parks — green, unfettered, biodiverse spaces — would mean more filtering capability. More lung power. The Boz Project for UP Tacoma is our only hope.
M, do you remember the words syncing our footfalls as we walked? More or less:
Frailty, sincerity, progressivism, inclusion, de-entanglement, farsighted sensations….
And then came the opposing cry, or barking, of the street-side cryer. It disjointed our unity with its repetitive banality. Bark, bark, bark!
The words thudding like the hammer of a sick drum: convenience, satisfaction, discounts, definitive delights. Inside, inside, inside — all the things you need, on sale! Satisfaction! Trust our representatives. They’re people just like you.
M, it seems we all need a helpfully healthy dose of helplessness… don’t we? To get us moving forward with purpose.
Our desolate Madrid is in decline. So be it, or be it so? We are at fault. The barker and the listener, alike. The fruit we poop does not simply decay and reenter the living sphere, it stains and remains. So we must be the balance. We must be the keepers of the greenways. The cleaners. For our body, for your light.
M, do you remember? Moe or less?
K. Shawn Edgar | Nightwatchman | Howard’s End | The One True Cog