« Bubbles of reality » Robwalkerpoet & Grand City Break. November 2016
Bubbles of reality
So here I am, a front-row seat
in Amsterdam, a cool-jazz beat
Modern Jazz Quartet they’re called
It’s ’57. Urbane. Sweet.
Chamber music’s Modern Age,
John Lewis piano-playing sage.
Lost in music’s interplay
my seat jerks roughly towards the stage.
My earplugs and my iPod fall
I realise I’m not there at all
but on a bus with windows fogged
and in Japan I now recall.
It’s hot in here but not outside
Commuters sleep all through the ride
We pass Himeji Castle, snow,
My reverie’s abruptly died.
I wonder if I’m really here
an Alien Resident for a year
or back at Home still sound asleep
alarm about to ring out clear…
And so it goes, banality,
the bubbles of reality
like Russian dolls each bubble pops
I doubt my person-ality.
And when I die will I be less
than all a bubble can compress?
And will the final burst reveal
a mere sphere of nothingness?
from Original Clichés, Rob Walker 2016.
Have a nice day…