A Jazzy tune for Trudging


A Jazzy Tune for Trudging

Under the soles of my feet
These Yokohama streets roll by and by
Ants in a rat race
Rats in a shark tank
Watching all the people scurry by
Pressing, pressing,
Onward and ever upward and outward
Pressing, pressing,
Onward and upward and outward
And sky high

Through the souls of the streets
A hundred thousand feet walk by
Jumping for the brass rings
Jostling in the straightaways
Eyes never looking to the sky
Pressing, pressing,
Forward and up toward with eyes cast downward
Pressing, pressing
Working till the bones run dry

Under the soles of my feet
These Yokohama streets pass by

Day 1.2


Rules of the Game

The exercise was simple:
Walk around the room.
I take direction well.
I needed direction today.
Walk, walk, walk.
I’m amazing at this game.
“Switch direction!” calls Dave.
“Be spontaneous!”
Thank God listlessness looks like spontaneity.
I can make aimless look daring.
I walk in rhombus.
I walk in parallelogram.
I walk in crescents.
“Now do something else!
Be free! Explore the space!
Crawl! Skip! Jump!”
My mind is a blank slate.
Walk, walk, walk.
Around in trapezoids I move
Trying to think of something to do,
Something that isn’t walking.
But my sense of play is gone.
I have no desire to do anything.
I’m barely doing the basic rule.
I’m barely walking.
Inside I’m huddled in the corner
Under the dance bar, next to the mirror,
Angrily staring at the other movers
Who merrily prance or roll or twirl,
Who have thought of things to do
Other than walk, walk, walk.
So, full of obedience and fear,
I do the only thing an actress
In crisis can do –
I walk, walk, with purpose and gusto
with charisma and direction,
Right out the door,
For a breather.