Yellow Tape
by Brian
Rosenberger
Saturday.
No work. No rat race. No one hour plus commute.
No water cooler gossip about office politics,
local or national news,
Nothing about sports, celebrities, the weather,
or corporate backstabbing.
A chance to be human again.
I unwind at the Park. It’s an escape.
Given my small-town roots and now living
In a Mid-sized and growing city,
It’s my time to disconnect and reconnect.
A chance to be me, not some soulless, worker drone.
I’m more than just a name tag and a cubicle.
But today, yellow tape prevents me from my normal
Saturday morning stroll.
I’m not the only one put out.
I see joggers, and people with strollers, people
with dogs,
People with people.
All wondering what’s going on in the Park.
Yellow tape. Crime scene. No admittance. No entry.
Quietly, I watch the chaos unfold. Smiling.
I once read something about how it takes far less
muscles
To smile than to frown.
I smile.
The Park serves as a great hunting ground
But maybe it’s time I find a new burial
ground.
Brian
Rosenberger lives in a cellar in Marietta, GA and writes by the light of
captured fireflies. He is the author of As the Worm Turns and three
poetry collections—Poems That Go Splat, And For My Next Trick...,
and Scream for Me.
