Tuesday Poem: "The Shamans of Mandurah - Part Two: The Shaven-headed Singer"

On the Mewburn rank,

the taxi driver curses the silent two-way radio

as he peels his sweat-soaked back

off the vinyl seat.

Like an osprey scanning the shifting sea

for silver flashes,

he appraises each approaching shopper.

Only the growing sound

of loud and tuneless singing

breaks his newsprint-induced trance.

A laugh bursts from his lips

as he watches The Shaven-headed Singer

on his child-size bicycle

freewheeling past the agape pedestrians.

They look askance at one another

in case this passing madness

might call out their own demons.

Then, rolling back their eyes like grateful Plague survivors,

they go back to their lemming rush

for lifestyle with a capital L.

Only the taxi driver,

knowing the arbitrary yardstick of sanity,

loves The Shaven-headed Singer

for celebrating the wildness in us all.

POET'S NOTE: Here is the second instalment in the series started last week. Enjoy.