Alive

A poem in free prose

by J. Richard Jacobs

You step closer, looking for detail
Lost in distance and you now see
There is much more revealed than before.
See the people scurry, heads down
With purpose, seeking destinations
Dry and wind free.

All seem caught up in their shuffling,
Boots squeezing water at every step.
Umbrellas tilted to the wind gallantly as
Shields held against an enemy
Pelting them from above – relentless
In its attack, turning street to mirror.

But wait, there goes one who, head held high,
Jumps, bounces, skips and splashes from
Walk to gutter and back. He laughs.
His laughter a siren song. A song
That beckons, entices and challenges
You to join him in his soggy dance.

You move closer to the scene and
Hear missiles pounding on pavement.
They bounce as high as gravity allows,
Then fall back into the growing
Puddle where once dry sidewalk was.
There to meld with others in the mirror.

The chill of a sudden breeze tingles your flesh.
A breeze drenched by the cascade wafts
A musty smell to your nostrils.
Mesmerizing song calls you ever closer
To the scene stroked on canvas
And the young lad who splashes there.

You see grim, determined looks
Worn by people pushing against wind
As they seek their escape.
Some give up, ducking into storefronts.
Others continue the struggle, bent
On reaching their desired destinations.

But not that boy who swings around
Lamp posts, their lights reflected below.
No cap, no coat, no boots, just joy
As he swings, splashes and squishes
Water from beneath bare feet and
Laughs his come hither song to all.

No one is listening but you,
And you are drawn closer still
Until, with a start and an odd shiver
Causing your hair to stand straight,
You realize you are no longer in the warmth
Of the gallery – but inside a painting that’s alive.

You shout. No one hears or sees or cares.
The sound of splashing feet tugs on you,
Drawing you deeper, closer to that lad
Bounding carefree in the rain.
The wind. The rain. The smell. Free. Alive.
You kick off your shoes and orbit a lamp post.

The boy laughs.

Published by jrichardjacobs

I began writing professionally in 1956. I worked with my stepfather, I called him Dad because he earned it, who was a songwriter, composer, copywriter, and promotions manager at Capitol Records - Hollywood. I say professionally because my first 'day job' was as a Technical Writer and Illustrator for Butler Publications in West Los Angeles. I left the writing full time thing in 1968 to pursue a career in naval architecture, but continued to write short fiction and the occasional magazine article. I 'retired' in 1998 and took up writing fiction full time again, only then it didn't need to support me so I've been having fun with it.

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