A Prose Poem

I think not of time but breathe with the flow of those that pass. They move, speak, jostle and laugh, while for them, I observe and dream.

The wind rolls from mall to mall, Manners to Cuba; I stand at the intersection, my feet elevated from the paving, my back to the James Smith Market. The wind, like a lattice of wire holds me immobile, statuesque; each nudge at my plastered robes and flesh securing my stillness.

When I tire of the staring eyes, rushing feet and pointing fingers, I dream of a webbing of wind holding me still within intertwining strands of wire, as invisible as nylon thread.

"Billy. Come on." The strident call echoes a flash of red across my periphery. The sleeve of a red jacket grabs at a boy with his face thrust back, chin level with my knees. Like me he is immobile but just for a moment. The sleeve misses, then takes another shot. The boy steps back. I can see him now. Like a fish he is staring, pale blue eyes and mouth, missing a milk tooth, agape. Unlike a fish, he has spiky ginger hair, and is wearing a zipped black jacket and scruffy jeans. From this angle I can't see his feet. I watch the red sleeve wrap around his shoulders and rock him away from the intersection towards Manners Mall.

"But Mum, its alive."

"If we don't get the shopping done, we won't be able to go to McDonalds."

From the edge of my vision, I see the red jacket dragging him away. His feet and arms are heading towards McDonalds, but his eyes and mouth still gape at me.

That's three, I think. Three this morning. Three who have noticed, in so far as to pause and speak. Sometimes it feels as if the act of speaking of my life gifts it back to me.

I think of the Saturday crowd as an equinoctial sky. The jetstream dash headlong intent upon a higher plane without a glance aside. Hordes of cumulus gather in waves of purposeful forward momentum like a front; more disjointed, less determined than the jetstream yet dotted with the aggressive loud voices of thunderheads asserting their presence within the throng. Then there are the strays, the low-level cloud. I am unable to discern if they are the remains, the stragglers from fronts gone by or if they are the forerunners of those to come. These stall, slouch and pause as if undecided, as if waiting to be directed by the buffeting of a greater mass. Last, there are the slices of clear sky when for a moment or two it is only the wind that moves.

"Hullo?"

I see a tuft of ginger hair at the extremity of my vision. He is standing too close for me to see him, but I smell that homogonous smell particular to a McDonalds, any McDonalds hamburger. He steps back, straight into the belly of a rotund man, wearing a tam-o-shanter on his head and a Highlander's scarf around his neck.

"Watch it Sonny."

A woman with a pram laden with shopping takes defensive action to avoid a collision and skirts around me muttering. Her curses are swallowed by the reving of a diesel responding to the traffic lights behind me.

The rotund man sets the boy back on his feet and helps him wipe hamburger sauce from the collar of his black jacket. He pats the boy's arm. "There you are, no harm done."

The boy stabs a free finger at me and says, "It's a lady, - isn't it?"

The man pushes his tam-o-shanter back and sniffs as he stares at me. "You might just be right, you know." He grins at the boy then back at me. "And you might be wrong."

"But, it is a person."

The man shrugs. "How about you stand with your back against this shop, then you won't be in anybody's way." He gives the boy a push towards Vance Vivian and waves as he hurries off. "See ya."

The boy watches him for a second then parks himself up against the shop front and studies me, a pensive expression distorting his face.

A front comes through. Between the throng I sometimes see the fish eyes and tufts of ginger hair. When the sky clears the boy is still there. He looks left, then right, then left again before stepping forward. He peers up at me. "Please tell me if you're alive."

I feel the lattice of wire slacken a fraction and ensuring that his eyes are still on mine, I wink.