PenWomanShip

Oh Yea, we've got life!
No thready pulse of a weakened heart...
but,
A seasoned dancer,
with a heartbeat
pronounced and constant, linking us to her
moment by moment,
supporting life, with familiar cadence.
With well loved drum, she and carries the beat.

The sound, primal, vibrant, heady.
She draws us in
to her large drum circle.
We connect with the rhythm.

We walk, we glide, we dance
through concrete paths.
Montage of colors, sounds and smells,
graffiti, gardens, riches, ruin.

Bypassing hefty bags of refuse
slumped across sidewalks,
we make our way through,
distinct scent of human matter,
sprayed down with hoses,
to clean the pavement,
and give the rats a sip.

Strings of taxis inch along,
all participating in the song of urban chaos.
Cells phones ring, all the while,
a sea of people, feel the beat,
tapping their bags and briefcases,
thighs and chests, pum pum, pum pum,
partaking in the lifebeat of the city.

Let's dance to the beat, cry to the beat,
sing lullabies,
while some die to the beat.
With a collective sigh, we'll say goodbye
and continue on, in our vast drum circle.