Parallax

Parallax

A large man with a high-pitched voice
walked, singing, down by the tracks.

But we took the road, as we feared the noise
of the dogs in the cul-de-sacs.

The road beat heartless on our poise,
holding worlds on our backs.

But thanks to timing! Three convoys
in a train went down the tracks.

We breathed relief and felt rejoice,
we dropped our gunnysacks.

Our friendships we would now enjoy
as we drank our cognacs.

We missed the distant strange high voice
as we all began to relax.

But nothing was done, we had no choice
but to wait while we ate our snacks.

We pondered his lot, was it by his choice?
To lay down his battle-ax?

Or did he run around, unemployed,
mad at the corporate attacks?

Did he live in a simple kind of joy,
unlike the melancholiacs?

Or better yet, did he try to toy
with the toys of the amnesiacs?

We’d never know his lonely ploy,
'cause we lacked the pertinent facts.

And the road drove onward beyond the noise
of the train going down the tracks,

and though we wanted, we had no choice
but to walk past this anticlimax,

of the huge man with the high-pitched voice—
who lay still—

down by the tracks.