Just-a-poem - 2014-01-15-08-53 - The flyover

. . . . As told by L. E. A. Anndrea . .

Yesterday, I got up and bounced out off bed,
Put on my shoes, and walked right out…

I bounced and I walked, and I went hither thither

I walked this way and that, wherever

Then I was drawn to a new-is flyover
There was grass on the ground, within the swirl

And there was no grass, just under the road,
So I looked and I saw,
A pavement set thither
And it had benches, and stalls
Of popcorn and steamed corn,
Corn on the cob,
And candy floss (Can you make that of Stevia leaves, please?)

Fresh unpeeled fruit, like oranges and plantain,
Custard apples, and Litchi,
Rambootan and Pomegranate,
Ya, I’ve got a tree of that here…

And I saw people sitting on the benches,
Eating all that food,
And sitting on the lawn
And making memories

Some took photographs
And some just stored it up
And some didn’t do anything
But it looked like they did.

And there was a live band playing,
With drums and a tambourine,
An acoustic guitar, and a flute
An accordion and other acoustic instruments

But since this is the age of electronic instruments,
There were those too,
An electric guitar, a bass and a lead
An electric keyboard, though not a piano (that needs care and is bulky to move, … Oh well! Just set it right there, under the roof, and that will be good)
And they played, with amplifiers each
And then someone turned down the volume
Because it was so good.

But I turned it up, and it blared,
And the people got up and glared
Then they went this way and that
And finally they moved to the beat of the drum

But then, I never knew, what might have been
I just saw them move to the beat of my drum,
And I was satisfied.

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