Wait on Nicollet
Jumble jumble;
rustle rustle.
Colors glow;
scents smother;
sounds deafen
the most sensetive souls.
Soles pound pavement;
music drives;
spirits spinspinspinspinspin.
Greenpinkred.
Greyrustdead.
Beggers beg;
Shoppers shop;
high heeled shoes
beat a stacotto
as a woman runs past.
Organized chaos...
The wind!
The WIND!
Nature slices through the city market.
Sickly-sweet cinnemon tempts
to illness,
as a father pushes his child's stroller,
running.
Coldcold wind
cuts to the bone.
Gypsy fiddle,
lively accordian
warm the heart.
Dark and delicate,
her reflection rolls by.
The bus rumbles,
as if alive.
Quietly,
rubber soled boots step into
the folding glass and metal maw.
Smothering open of commerce
replaced
with stifling confinement of transit.