Tapping by Andrew Simms
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CC-BY-NC: Alban Low
Walk, meet the world on its wandering terms, answer an ever-yearning to find your place. In the dark bat-like, craving echoes to know each obstacle's position, I take a step, but cannot hear it yet over the low drum roll of traffic, endless polluting prelude to magic that fails there’s no great car democracy do you remember them gone, the street ceasefire when, to beat a virus, people put their vehicle weapons down then I heard children talking saw them chalking pavement rainbows heard overhead the joy orchestra of birds and my footsteps sounded again like a friend window tapping for attention each stride the world calling, waving back
Loved the joy orchestra, cars as weapons, and the last few lines tapping on the window. A poem full of noises, sound sensations.