Not really a poem but some sort of a love song for the man I saw dancing in North End

Waiting at the traffic lights
I watched you dancing.
On the pavement of a busy street
filled with shoppers
and people going home
or somewhere.

You were totally absorbed
gyrating at the centre
of your own world,
way outside the boundaries
of ours, with its unspoken
and outspoken agreements
of what is 'appropriate' behaviour.
Of what is acceptable enough
to merge anonymously
into this particular matrix.

You stood out alone,
not even legitimised by a purpose,
no Jubilee street parties now,
no hat at your feet for spare change.
Your smart black hat firmly on your head,
asking for nothing, not open to trade.

Your body swayed and moved

like you had Caribbean sands

beneath your feet,

not those hard grey pavements.

Your face turned upwards, smiling,

like it was shining under a sun so radiant

you did not notice the cold dark skies

and spots of rain.

You looked peaceful, happy even,

no one yet bursting your bubble,

your arms waving and spiralling

in the air above your head,

your legs and feet moving your body

to a rhythm none of us could hear.

Yet watching you

there was music

visible, almost audible ~

somewhere beyond the grumble of engines

and the mental shouting of assumptions

and judgements, doors always slamming in your face

to contain the unpredictable,

the incomprehensible?

You the untouchable, somebody's son.

I saw the small crowd

nearby at the bus stop

laughing uncomfortably,

some taking the piss,

some moving further along

looking away down the road.

People carrying bulging bags

walking in elaborate detours

to avoid passing too close,

repelled by an invisible force-field

several feet around you.

Anxious about the possibility of engagement.

Scared... of what?

Scared you would kill them

or talk to them

or get them to dance?

Scared they would catch some notes

of the mysterious melody,

that their feet or their hearts

would skip a beat

to those unseen drums?

Scared of surrendering

to what is broken,

of not being able to mend,

none of us ever knowing

what's coming for us

around the next bend.

Scared of not understanding,

only guessing at what drugs or illness

or crisis brought you to this moment?

So we walk on by,

we get on the bus.

The lights change,

we drive on.

We are all getting on with our lives

fearful of scarcity

unsure if there is enough

compassion to go around.

And just supposing you were dancing

for nothing but the pure uninhibited joy of it,

because you are alive,

because this world gets more insane

with every passing second

and you are shimmying your own

way of surviving it.

How mad would that be?