The POWER going out
led
me all the way downtown to the mouth of Manhattan with a quarter of the
crew,
a meandering pack.
Led
to
shaking hands with a politician who stood at the gate, saying
over
and over again, “Welcome to the world’s largest block party !”
The
pedestrians;
we went forward, while the Brooklyn Bridge swayed.
Some
complain of seasickness.
There
are advisements over the radio to avoid the Bridge so we take the
Manhattan,
walking down 2nd Ave all the way.
Once
on the bridge, I sing ‘Let my people go’ as if a ticker tape rolls down
my
tongue and my throat is the Nasdaq.
It
probably
had something to do with the heat but I was beginning to feel like an
extra
in a Biblical epic.
Helicopters
whirl around, hearkening only an all too common but unnecessary sense
of
danger.
The
oncoming
traffic reminds us that we can’t take up the whole road path.
The
key
element was RESPECT.
RESPECT
to the restaurants doling out free water.
RESPECT
to the impromptu traffic officers who had never known such POWER in
their
two hands.
RESPECT
to the cab drivers who abandoned their cars to stand by the sidelines
and
call out,” How’s it feel to use your goddamn feet for once ?”
RESPECT
to the rotting fish of Chinatown.
RESPECT
to the subway car of people that sang the ABC song to a hysterical
child
as they climbed up through the tunnels.
RESPECT
to the pedestrians.
Give
them the RIGHT of WAY.
RESPECT.
The
sun
went down, and the first twinge of homesickness. Closer to the end and
a
bit lost. Like a new country. My neighborhood.
I
ended
up in the dark with joyful electricians, none possessing a battery
operated
lamp. Eavesdropped on a painful date, and pet a shaking puppy.
When
night fell, I swam through various pools of homo sapiens and lady
violins
towards the tiki torches in the middle of the block. To my uncle, who
lives
for crises, so he can utilize his fine collection of camping equipment.
Everyone
on the block ended up gathering around our building.
A
girl
virtuosa played her violin.
She
finishes.
Then announces, “I am a part of history…..”, holding onto the last
syllable.
Dragging
it out, the way she did, made it sound like the air coming out of a
balloon.
She
scurries
home, after her father.
I
started
to think it might be a good idea to get last minute supplies from the
deli
before they closed, or got looted.
Last
night in the dark, you found me naked in the bathroom, still drunk from
tequila.
I
let
you bawl into my neck.
Who
was
more disappointed that you had to go ?
Your
tears left imprints that glow upon my neck like tiny flashlights.
“What
do you mean by that?”, I can almost hear you say.
I
mean,
they keep me going forward. It’s the only way they will dry.
They
help me find my way around the store.
I
grab
a POWER bar, never knowing what I’ll be hungry for next.
I
woke
to an alarm at the end of the hallway.
The
POWER
was on at 5 am.
Still,
no trains running.
Back
on the street, this time, to a day off that no one knew that they
needed.
I ran into a girl that I know, at the bookstore.
This
girl had decided to use this day to figure out what to do with her
life.
She was looking for the book that would tell her.
PRAISE
is an inner emotion that can be heard for miles and miles.
Don’t
believe what you read about this on the road.
Despite
all the halo bending, it feels all right to be here.
I
read
somewhere that Iraqis were asked how they felt about our blackout. Like
they
don’t have more important things to think about.
I
wasn’t
really sure what the point was but at one point, they ask these Iraqis
to
list ways that they deal with their own blackouts.
Even
though the primary reason they have blackouts probably has something to
do
with our invasions of their country, and we’re observing the first
signs
of our decaying “electrical grid plan.”
An
eerie
tactic to persuade bias on our part comes in when they state that
someone
they interviewed said “Swear about the Americans.” When they experience
a
blackout.
I’ve
been thinking about you on the road, going so far from all of this.
I
just
wanted to tell you about the time all the lights went out, and how we
all
burned Brooklyn.
“What
do you mean ?”, I can almost hear you say.
Haven’t
you heard the word ‘burn’ as slang for cooking ?
Brooklyn
cooked in the dark, but it all came out WELL DONE.
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