Wise & Young

My body tenses on the edge of the chair
So soft an embrace can barely make me solemn
While my eyes watch her fingers reel backward, air
Rushes away, slapping, sensing the tingle, drag, brush and admiration of the cold concrete column.
Her own devised game with architecture seems age-old.
As a watcher in the waiting
Older electric minds Fire off angrily and unfold
Sending judgments and reasons for her innovating
Accused of being a young adult
 With no attention for our advanced society
Were all in this room waiting, is sickness a part of our collective cult?
With their brains exploding from their previous piety!
My rebellious body mind beats not in electric shocks
Instead in a natural rhythmic thump
A thump which ripples along the muscles and internal clocks
Communicating with an unbiased stump
Waves pulsing through its elegant back
Down its hinge legs
Across the dirty servant track
Hop scotching the patterned squares, ghosting broken eggs
Knitted without mothers care
Trying to join the little girl’s game
With a game as lively as this I declare
My fear of so many questions voiced to a flame
Why she is here?
Then the worse I fear that if she should be here
As healthy as she is,
Why isn’t this city a doctor’s waiting room?