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Literary Contributions
New Man in New York
Bateman-Ezra
Hunters mistaking men for deer,
Earphones dangle from every second ear.
A man gives half an eye to the pavement underfoot,
Walking home at the end of an August working day.
Thermal drafts along the broad street
Send his blazer billowing, a snapping sail.
Eyes hidden behind the long chain molecules of his polarized lenses,
Preventing the glare of sunset.
The smooth tip of his right index finger
Traces across a pixilated screen in his left hand.
His awkward gait modulated
By the careful movements of the finger.
Wires lead up from the screen to his ears,
A stethoscope searching for a heartbeat.
Sounds of the city become partially muted white noise
Against the rhythms of his pre-programmed music.
Made to slow at an intersection,
And gently bumping into a navy blue dress.
He raises his eyes and gestures an apology with muted lips and fingers.
The woman smiles, staring at the crown of his head through her glasses,
dark and wide.
He signals back, momentarily drawn,
Red ramparts of hair cascading over her shoulders.
The crowd moves again, she is swept forward.
An incoming call and the man takes it.
Once across, she stops and looks back at him.
His head is down in conversation.
Both of them standing still, a long moment.
The crowd walks around them like the flow of blood.
She lowers her glasses,
His head down, finger frantically tracing his pad, scheduling a meeting.
Her dark, wide shades are slowly pushed back to the bridge of her freckled
nose.
She turns and walks on.
August sun over New York burns and falls imperceptibly.
Walking again, sweat running off his forehead,
Tracing down his cheeks out from under his polarized lenses.
He tucks the pixilated pad into his inside breast pocket, and presses
it up against his heart.
Bateman-Ezra is a published
poet and academic living in Vancouver, British Columbia.
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