Monday Monday and the world sings me a song
Getting my red coat out of the closet in the morning, the door wheezes open like a horse that’s just heard a joke. I push it closed to hear it laugh again
The subway announces its arrival and departure coolly, an ancient chime. People hum and breathe and sigh with the impatience of the morning. I pull my hat down low and put my watch up to my ear. It ticks full of smug satisfaction: I am going to be on time
At my desk the fingers of industry click in their syncopated rhythm, jagged and unpredictable. My tapping is connected to my brain and propelled by random bursts of inspiration, quieted by spreading pools of boredom. I listen to crisp pages turning and turn them back again to listen
Lunchtime. I pull the red lever for hot water and it splooshes reluctantly into my plastic bowl of instant noodles. I notice, too late — the water is tepid. I curse under my breath and the word is delicious and soft. Microwaves beside me ding self-importantly. I tug a door open to save my lunch while the small talk of strangers washes over me. My mind is a comfortable, empty seashell of wind and wave
“Spaaare chaaange? Spaaare chaaange?” The voice of a homeless man in the middle of the train station wobbles through the same old afternoon mantra. I try not to hear, try not to let my heart break over it while I make my way to where Jenn’s warm, friendly face will kiss my own clean cheek. His voice sings an unsteady aria of need and confusion, and it follows me only one stop further before it flies out the open train doors
Strains of Spanish guitar lilt through the underground tunnel in Park Street, an old man with a grey beard thrums an accordion on Mass Ave. A blonde woman in dark glasses smokes her cigarette and lends her voice to the woy yoy yoys of the dreadlocked guy singing Buffalo Soldier in front of the Out of Town News. I close my eyes and try to listen to the sound the sun makes when it realizes it can stay out an extra hour
“Wait, Honey Bunches of Oats are the little cones, right?” “No no no…”
My best friend’s laughter rhymes with the clink of margarita glasses
Walking home, sweet conversation brushes in between my phone and my ear. I hang up and play the last note, the whirr of my camera taking this picture
March 28th, 2006 at 12:56 am
23/3,25/3 and, up to now, 27/3 postings have no comments posted. I thought I would break the “duck”. I like the picture above. Where is taken ? Do you still use film or have you gone digital altogether.
Love
March 28th, 2006 at 7:29 am
Ha! You’re so funny; I can’t believe you notice comments. And I’ve never heard the expression “break the duck.” Where does it come from? :-)
Picture taken through a store window. I am all digital, all the time, baby. I last used film on our honeymoon in September. I might again, but I still need to get your macro lens fixed (the focus ring is stuck) so I can use the Minolta.
March 29th, 2006 at 7:28 am
From cricket, I think. But I have used it all these years.
It means getting the first run(or score the first score in other games; a goal in football, a try in rugby etc. I use it to mean to do anything for the first time in your life or in a particular situation, say in a game.
I am not sure how it started but I always thought that the “duck” came from the use of the term “duck’s egg” to mean a big zero! Interesting how I have never given the term a second thought as I assumed most everyone knew it. But look it up for “wordnerd”
I asked about film as I have just put in Gabe’s Nikon and the zoom lens into the “dry cabinet”". No one now uses the film based camera in this house.
March 29th, 2006 at 8:14 pm
That’s a great explanation! I’ll have to look it up.