the authors stole this from themselves, so i'm just plain stealing it.
Rattle and Hum
The cars and trucks are magnificent rushing down the byways and highways
They rattle and hum the city’s song
I like the way it tastes sometimes
The air that is
It’s sweet diesel and exhaust fumes
Are delightful with a morning cup of coffee
City of light and romance
Forever in a kind of funk I guess
Is the mess that consumes the skyline
But it’s pretty
With violent overtones that caress silent demons
Most people wouldn’t see that
But they don’t look that closely
Wherein lies beauty
Lies the other side of beauty
The city is filled with many faces
And is never peaceful
Or so it may seem
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rattle and hum
As the public transit teeters along in standstill traffic, mufflers cough in visible puffs into the cold air, inch by dicey inch, i'm left to my restless devices, to wander into a corner of my mind that was at the time entertaining a sudden, unexpected scenario oft brushed aside. An idle afternoon can find the carpet being pulled from underneath, forcing ordinary laypeople to go to extremes, springing into action... or not.
A jittery hand lifts a young man from his seat after a short meditative moment to perhaps redoubt what he's about to do. As he jolts up, brandished from a side pocket is an equalizer among which other riders at first glance have seemingly little to match (backpacks, shoes, pencils, scarves, phones).
Edging his way to the front to announce his commitment to hold this bus and its crew hostage, stalling the driver of any objective but to continue forward to nowhere in particular just so long as they are moving, not directing any more attention our way. The poise I'd present if his focus fixated on me to the rear, of desperation and fear, a scene as far as can be from hollywood's touch so cavalier.
Regardless, someone or another eventually digs deep within themselves to etch out a rag-tag sequence that would do one of a few things. I sit and ponder this event from the backseat of a sparsely populated bus, screening the fragmented words spoken in the thick of it, anything to scramble past the pang of anxiety shoving me back down in the seat at every sight of the weapon. Perhaps taking it upon one's self, one's life, to establish some potential channel of conversation to defuse a pending firestorm.
His words are heard clearly as fear grips everyone in cold stasis, among them are sentiments that spell out a discontent with some aspect of society, to where one could meet the derelict halfway with a mirroring account of equally sharp bitterness with the status quo, a reasonable yet hasty improvisation painting an environment that riles people daily to some level of anger and exhaustion.
Beyond the engine, the silent march on an endless stretch of highway, a seething hot tension, dripping along the rims of the kettle, one may be forced to do brain surgery with no view of the canvas before them, a shot in the dark to remind a fellow human of the shared struggle of existence... or to die trying.
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Rattle and Hum
The sounds of the city
rising to my window
as it comes alive
The night people coming home
The day people heading out for their day
There is a hum of conversation
through the streets
Shuffling of harried feet
heading to their daily destination
Gray buildings that were lit up
during the night
are now dull and dreary
Coffee shops now crowded
While clubs and bars are dark
only fragments of the night are left
There is something missing from the day people
Stiffness and complexity seem to rule
While night people are more carefree and fun filled
I glance out the window and watch the traffic
Everyone frantic for those crazy yellow cabs
that dash through the streets like lightening
Smiling to myself, knowing MY city will be back soon
I close the window
Pull the shade
Hit the bed
The rattle and hum of the city
lulling me to sleep
