Salute
 
I grasp the ticket and step
into what they call the real world.
The singer shouts ‘put your
hands in the air,’
I sit on mine. A voice hisses
‘stand up, you won’t see or hear.’
Only I’m used to listening to
marram grass melodies
and tuning into the faint peep
of sea birds, half a mile away
or attending the percussive gloop, gloop
of water trying to escape rock pool traps;
So, I hear very well.
And I’m accustomed to observing
an unfurling bolt of glossy black, sequined, night sky
and watching as the waking sun pricks at its folds
until it’s dip-dyed lemon by the light;
So, I see very well.
 
The crowd rocks in a great sea swell
churning trash and organic matter together.
They’re so content to surrender themselves
to the swirl, I almost long to try it.
Then I remember what a kind hearted
friend had to say about my troubles and
how they’re probably down to those human
rights and how much damage it seems to do
treating everyone as equal,
so I tremble at how easy it would be
to stretch silent, swaying hands
out into a salute.