Perched high above where no one can see,
he scans the scenes below wondering
what all the raucous is about.
Escaping his aerie for a quick bite
or a neighborly ‘Hello’,
thousands march past him.
Chants, names echo
Cries call out through the streets
‘It must have been someone they know.
Do I take my meal to go?
Do I join the march, grab a sign and bellow?
Or stand by to record it on video’?
He is but a common man in the crowd
with a voice that isn’t very loud.
One of many that hear the call
but caught up in the commotion of it all.
He broods about, ‘Have our feathers settled for too long?’
Onlookers furrow their foreheads,
yet, it’s time for a brut decision.
The outsider, he can no longer be.
A spinal column so hollow
marks a squandered opportunity.