|
Cosmic
The tide was out
stretching a long desert of wet sand
and a man with a steel framed backpack sat on a log
and watched it meet somewhere out there with the identical sky.
And hours later, when I returned
to see that the man was still there,
the ocean now
a steadily growing puddle at his feet,
I could only watch and wait and
think about the details of my day, which were now
somehow irrelevant, for here was a man
who, in standing and moving slowly towards
the shore, was a man who moved for nothing else
but the mysterious pull of the moon.
Traffic
and wires are down at the intersection of Cambie and King Ed
and roadwork on Oak has traffic single lane for five blocks to 45th street
and a power outage in the Willingdon area has lights flashing red, use the four way stop procedure
and a dump truck has stalled mid-span on the Iron Worker's Memorial Bridge
and a pedestrian is down at the intersection of Pender and Burrard, paramedics and fire attending
and we have word of a mattress in the southbound right lane of the Portman Bridge
and a bus is hooked on a power pole near Gaglardi and Canada Way, blocking the intersection.
I look out the window and down into the city
expecting a scene of disaster, calamity
but it would appear that these instances
are but mild aberrations
in relation to the whole
and remind myself that
although it may be true
someone will die tonight
just trying to get home from work,
no disaster has yet been able
to prevent everything
from plodding onwards
in this tireless manner
of continuous persistence.
Accident.
Early one morning
I witnessed a car accident,
and for the rest of the day
expected to watch another
derive from out of the shifting
shunting traffic of the city streets,
for two cars to come together
in that natural, casual,
and carefree manner of screech and bang.
Byron Bussey
Email: Byron Bussey
Return to Table of Contents
|