Thursday, May 26, 2011

A Madman’s Mirth by Jack McBrams

There is only one difference between a madman and me. He thinks he is sane. I know I am mad. – Salvador Dali

As if entranced, he approaches the car,
Is unperturbed by the heavy traffic,
His shirt, a dark brown Coca-Cola loin
That once promised to, “Quench your thirst!” during
The Italy 90 World Cup, ragged
By both age and lack of civility.
His shorts, exactly what it says it is,
Threatens to reveal what it seeks to veil.

A ruffian, yet blithe, he leans forward
On the Maybach (How dare he?) stares into
My eyes (Now this is getting alarming)
His bloodshot, glaring eyes, probing their search.
(“You want to know truth, Sir?” his gaze suggests).
Frustrated by my lack of gamesmanship,
He turns to the rear view mirror and then
Turns to me, looks me in the eye, and breathes;

Breaking into a laughter that breaks me:
A long, hollow chuckle that haunts the soul.
Laughter so dark it questions sanity—
A laughter that is both insane and sad.

As rush hour traffic eases, I drive off,
Exploring the blurred line between reason
And lunacy, his actions haunting my thoughts,
His laughter echoing within my mind.

Does he laugh at the view of his stained teeth?
Or the stench of his odour so heavy
It’s reflected in my rear view mirror?
Or does he laugh just because he wants to?
Just because he can – because he can stand
In the middle of the street in rush hour,
Peep at my rear view and lean on my door and laugh?

Or does he laugh because he thinks I am mad?

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