Me Without Me Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(A song to sing as you leave for work in the morning)

(i)
Sometimes in our individual selves, we go out to
Times Square, full of we tripled in sky-high likes
Right to the contours of our peculiar shells,
Giving up not a speck from a bulk of dislikes.

The world becomes a mass of friction,
Cattle-pedestrians jostling each other for space,
Bodies of comfort, instincts within we, making
Us swell to the sacred walls of neighbors.

Jostling continues, friction igniting flames
Of slurs, storms of innuendoes churned from
Snarls and yelps, groans hurled all over from
Person to person, each a whirlpool of likes.

When on streets only hollow wheeled barrels
Of persons roll and grumble along, bees
Ready to sting in a buzzing choir, each person's
Comfort clashes with gongs of others' dislikes.

(ii)

Reams in Time Square, in mote-instincts, we unfold
Ourselves in the street: breezes of storms, we're
Inadvertently built of, balloons of we, wheezed
Out respectfully to make room for low whispers.

The world really is an array of nylon tunnels
Through which we glide along without shells
Left back home in drawers and closets of intimacy
To black-eyed molds, as we float through breezes

In streets flowing with likes fondling dislikes,
Bowing to each other through transparent glass,
Rear mirrors and headlights of our caution
Avoiding any denting contact likely to emit sparks.

Always, of course, likes and dislikes, puffy grins,
Tease each other, throw light jabs without fists,
Blooming like fresh flowers that never wither:
Parties in streets, incandescent candles flicker.