Oh, The Irony
Absent, but not absent-minded. I have seen it all and stored it somewhere in the foggy caverns of my brain.
It’s a little ironic that I most need to report what I see when I’m lost deep in those caverns.
Irony is the lens & the filter through which I’m seeing the world of late. This morning, as the train screeched along wet tracks past the Scottish Rite of Freemasonry center, my heart yielded to sadness for the human being laying on the cement steps under ragged blankets….and then, the irony next door of suited & cologned people with cloth napkins draped across their laps, warm and smiling over steaming bowls of oatmeal and perfectly cooked eggs at Gracies in the Hotel deLuxe.
It stirred me to a place and a need to purge some ruminations & snapshots from the cavern….
Irony and other stuff
…Children & cats, leashed & harnessed // dogs wearing sweaters, running free
…Hipsters don’t really seem that hip, unless it’s hip to be dirty.
…At the altar of a — COKE machine — a woman dropped to her knees with a gutteral groan, her liquid salvation denied.
…A red balloon soaring high above the Columbia River. Somewhere, A child was crying.
…Windmills perched on high-rise buildings, dormant against turbulent skies.
…Blood on bricks
…Spent bullet in the grass
…Woman on the train with a broom. One never knows when sweeping will be necessary. I like preparedness in a person.
…A wanderer clothed in his misfortune, smoking butts from the gutter…and talking on his cell phone.
…I looked a deer in the eye as the trained pulled away from the Beaverton Creek platform. It stood frozen among bushes heavy with mustard, yellow flowers that consumed the trackside like fire.
…A distinguished man with silver hair and perfectly creased slacks, tapping his polished, patent leather shoes to the rhythm of the blues. His head, cradled in headphones and bobbing up occasionally from behind the daily Oregonian. Somehow, I could see his soul and it was good. He was sitting next to a young man wearing ridiculous boots and jeans processed for effect. The bill of his baseball cap was frayed, not by time and comfort earned, but by the manufacturer. In his hands he held his universe — a Blackberry. Not once did he lift his head or peel his eyes from the device. I could not see his soul, but his dead expression said it all.
…A man in a suit and tie, wearing a sandwich board that urged, “Have sex because the end is near”.
Ahh….ok, now I have a little room to breath in my cavern. Peace be with you. Do come again……