There is a strange man in the back office
Strange, disturbing, unique and alluring
He’s putting things in boxes
Walking away, coming back and doing it all over again
Strange the way I’ve never seen him
No one else seems bothered by his presence
Yet I find myself entirely involved in wondering: Who is he and what’s going on?
It’s not the contents of the box that I’m intrigued by.
For they are the things that belong in my day to day world
Books and things, bits and bobs, paper and lollies for children.
Colours of the world seen on tiny photos.
Maps of places we all long to see.
Drops of water ready for blessings in bottles, and dreams of the seven high seas.
These are the things that I touch every day,
These are the things that I sell, wrap up and send on their way.
Perhaps it’s his rhythm that intrigues me as he busies
Picking up and putting in, occasionally inspecting, often turning things, shaking and burning things
It leaves me wondering
Poor man, what have they done to you.
Is the list too long?
Is the honey too hot and the tongue too strong?
Are you’re taking a break while your dream still lives on,
The feeling of it constantly hitting home
Do you wish to dive in a rock pool?
Swim beneath the oceans?
Find love and run with the rolling tide?
I understand you
I feel your desire
You can count on me to be your friend, read your thoughts, share the intensity and dream the dream of a life worth living.
Because you’re like me
Because you’ve felt the pain and rolled in the grass and smoked the pipe that ignited the fire, previously extinguished by boxes to fit into, clothes to wear, things to say and watch and play.
Yes I see my Mr. Strange, that you too are unique, that you too would understand me, if only,
If you would only look up and see.
Bears Rebellion 17/03/14