Round & Round (Vers.3)
Blue-hairs, white hairs, no-hairs.
One with Elvis Costello glasses,
One with Cat Woman’s. Others have wire-rimmed goggles, not that they are
Seeing anything but more from routine and habit.
Planets orbiting the quarter-mile track.
They orbit the in-door track as walking zombies moving but with no destination.
There are singular planets and near colliding couple planets.
All orbit the same.
Slightly hunched
Forward, not quite falling, their weight sifted for impetus. Speed maintained
And on course, Scotty. Not fast; not slow – steadily circling their orbit.
They all orbit to the left as if some gravitational pull is tugging like an umbilical cord
I try not to see their eyes, but I do - see them.
Vacant, black, empty rooms with rolled up shades
In non-anticipation of diversion or acknowledgement or
remembrance.
The track is dark no stars illuminating constellations
Only the gym’s skylights parcel out the non-shadow areas
When the planets, both men and women, reach the north end they
Fade in to the walls and the volleyball netting, obscured momentarily
Until they have once again entered the curvature of their circumference
I observe them through a short lens telescope taking notes
collecting data on non-existence.
I note the planets do not speak or wave or travel out of orbit
I will name them soon. They circle the track
In their not quite white gym shoes / not jogging or running shoes. Shoes like
The nurses used to wear when I was very young and all there was to choose
From were real gym shoes, black and white Converse or PF Flyers and nurses’
Shoes, not quite white.
They never look at me; never speak.
I think, as I lace up my PF Flyers, I think today I will orbit to the right.
Round & Round (Vers.3)
Blue-hairs, white hairs, no-hairs.
One with Elvis Costello glasses,
One with Cat Woman’s. Others have wire-rimmed goggles, not that they are
Seeing anything but more from routine and habit.
Planets orbiting the quarter-mile track.
They orbit the in-door track as walking zombies moving but with no destination.
There are singular planets and near colliding couple planets.
All orbit the same.
Slightly hunched
Forward, not quite falling, their weight sifted for impetus. Speed maintained
And on course, Scotty. Not fast; not slow – steadily circling their orbit.
They all orbit to the left as if some gravitational pull is tugging like an umbilical cord
I try not to see their eyes, but I do - see them.
Vacant, black, empty rooms with rolled up shades
In non-anticipation of diversion or acknowledgement or
remembrance.
The track is dark no stars illuminating constellations
Only the gym’s skylights parcel out the non-shadow areas
When the planets, both men and women, reach the north end they
Fade in to the walls and the volleyball netting, obscured momentarily
Until they have once again entered the curvature of their circumference
I observe them through a short lens telescope taking notes
collecting data on non-existence.
I note the planets do not speak or wave or travel out of orbit
I will name them soon. They circle the track
In their not quite white gym shoes / not jogging or running shoes. Shoes like
The nurses used to wear when I was very young and all there was to choose
From were real gym shoes, black and white Converse or PF Flyers and nurses’
Shoes, not quite white.
They never look at me; never speak.
I think, as I lace up my PF Flyers, I think today I will orbit to the right.