Compulsive Talker

[media-credit name=”Ed Yourdon” align=”alignnone” width=”640″][/media-credit]
Or maybe I’m just friendly
I have a lot to say and I notice things
and know that if I don’t say something right away
the golden moment will vanish
poof and never be known on the planet again
which seems very sad like when suddenly there’s the moon
looming overhead and it’s the morning
but people miss it because they aren’t thinking
about the moon since they associate it with darkness
nevertheless I notice it from its smooth edge (its color matches
the clouds which have their soft rough edges)
so I call to the closest stranger
to look
thus we both can savor
a morning moon

But sometimes there’s a happening
like when those women ran past me
then I walked past them
gotta joke about that and recognize their efforts
we laughed together
they facetiously set a date for the three of us
to return to the hill climb the next day

When the portly guy strolled by wearing a panda-covered cravat
he deserved a compliment and a warm expression
I said nice tie
nothing extraordinary about that
only pleasant

I feel more connected to my city when I hold these conversations
and make a point of a little weather talk if I share a red light wait
with other iPodless pedestrians
can’t stand all those folks in their separate
musical lands missing the birds and the traffic
they think it’s a blessing
actually it’s isolating
and hazardous

Wheel chair ramps spit you right into traffic
it’s nuts
I said so to that woman today
after she had to negotiate with a one-ton car
from her sitting-duck position
it’s impressive what she deals with on a regular basis
that should be honored

Then that boy tried to cross and a truck kept coming
luckily that man on the other side of the street yelled at him
I thought oh that man’s like me
must say something

The boy leapt back to the curb
the next driver behaved and the boy made it across
he walked straight to the man who saved his life
the man spoke in a stern voice
I couldn’t hear what he said
the boy seemed pretty chastened
then I saw
the man had his hands
down the front of his sweatpants

I passed without saying a word

Filed under Poetry

Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.