A Manhattan Scene

As I sat in my metal enclosure
Watching the people passing
On the concrete glass walled street
A satisfying calm came over me

My breathing became deep and effortless
I became aware of my transcendental separateness
And for a fleeting moment, I was looking down on the scene

When that ephemeral moment passed
I continued my observations
From the security of the womb like interior
Of my glass and metal watching post

The air was refreshingly brisk
Which made an open window
A luxury worth the risk
Of an unwanted intrusion

As is the custom
The machine like creatures
Peddled their way in close proximity
In quick, but differing, rates of speed

No one saw or felt the other
As they passed each other or walked together
On that small piece of stone
That was my portrait

None were amused, bemused or curious
And each face wore the mask of illness
Where flat affect is the primary symptom

I was an actor in the scene by virtue of proximity
Yet because of my stationary position
Went undetected as an arrogant participant
Never lusting, envying or pitying

I felt like a god looking down on his
Frightened, bewildered, awkward children
Whose puffed up egos were a matter of great hilarity

My mind was quiet, but alert
My emotions were steady, yet uninvolved
As each passed my view; front, side and back
And I swallowed their essences, their dress and physicality

Then my wife started the car
My portrait was no more
And I was free