Observations from the Tangent Gallery

Observations from the Tangent Gallery

i.

She barely looked old enough to be out so late.

Let alone with someone his age,

Though he couldn’t be more than 25,

It spoke volumes about just how young she looked.

Perhaps she was older. I hope.

With her drugged-out, spacy, quasi-vegetative state,

a puppet in a Barbie doll skirt,

following her master like a puppy dog,

without a consciousness to call her own.

He spoke nary a word to her,

nor did she speak to him.

How could she in that state?

His only interaction with her

consisted of tossing his jacket over her head.

A human coat rack.

He then turned his back from her

and toward his bros,

and she barely blinked,

promptly removing the jacket, placing it over her chair.

She then fixed her messed up hair,

caused by the jackass’s jacket.

He with the backwards douchebag hat,

Shooting the shit with his douchebag bros.

As though she did not exist.

Beyond an existence for her convenience only.

Eye candy

and presumable sexual gratification,

A likely two-pump chump.

If even that.

Perhaps this was some sort of sub/dom fetish thing?

Would that really make much of a difference?

Perhaps, if it made her a more willing participant.

As the minute dragged on,

she continued staring into the void,

as the douchebag continued giving

her more reason to disappear into it.

And then he got up,

motioning for her to do the same,

as he was the one who called the shots.

She handed him his jacket.

He snatched it from her with grave indifference.

He was the one who called the shots.

He headed toward the exit.

The puppy puppet followed.

I couldn’t help but feel the need to save her.

Could I save her?

Did she need to be saved?

Wouldn’t it have been worth a try?

Like so many other things left undone.

ii.

On the other side of humanity’s coin,

entered a girl in a wheelchair,

pushed by a caretaker.

Sister, friend, or lover?

Not clear. And perhaps not relevant.

She had two artificial limbs,

capped off with some bad ass classic Doc Martens.

Her friend wore a matching pair.

Her friend, who was so attentive, navigating her wheelchair

through the pebble-coated ground.

Adjusting the chair for the best possible sightlines.

Engaging her in conversation,

even if it meant having to stoop down on her level.

A reminder that love lives among us.

As hard as it is to find.

And of course, the old adage…

where there is love,

there is always hope.