Normalcy

The weak man stumbles through the streets

eyes glued to the ground, not seeing the world around him

for his attention is directed inward,

mind racing with confusing questions

over what it means to be normal.

As he looks into the eyes of others

he feels a terrifying distance

a bleak dry desert with howling winds

that his voice can’t be heard over

drowned out by raging incoherent noise.

He shifts through fashion magazines

watches trendy shows

listens to the newest hot singles

observes strangers on the subway late at night,

mechanical beings who vigorously wipe smudges of their phone screens.

He probes for answers, trying to read their flickering facial expressions,

the constantly shifting clay masks

molded to the conformist ideal

their little earbuds plastered in

giving them instructions, telling them how to behave,

filtering out intrusive sound.

He lays on a sandy shore,

watching as other people drown in an oily polluted river.

He doesn’t know what to do, he does nothing to help.

He buries his nose in an encyclopedia

escaping into a world of objective facts

trying to maintain his concentration

distracted by the syncopated, rhythmic screaming

of the drowning masses.

But remember, he is a member as well

even if he won’t admit it

one day he will be forced to accept it

and will play a role in the tedious game of existence.