Blank Verses

“From 1:38 to 2:05”

Camera shifts to onlookers traipsing atop various other rooftops.  We get a woman shyly tempt a twist of neck and put a little curl behind an ear, I wonder if that camera’s on me, let me pose possibly wandering in her brain.

Our next onlookers are two ladies in, respectively, coffee and light blue, saying to each other then the camera,

“Oy!  Whot’s thot noise?  I like it so fingor-pointin’ much.”

Kids in big windows respond: we’re young, hip, we like this, it’s called music.

After them looks like Interpol went in time to be a part of the scenery, chaps all suited-up, bustling energy to jump down, get theirs ears closer.

Approaching next is my favorite!  Inspector Gadget, in his elder years, gracefully climbs a fire ladder of a separate building.  Pipe-in-mouth he makes it safe, takes a puff, places hands in pockets, puffs once more.

“I can jive with this,” he’s thinking (you can see it in his gait) ”good thing I’m here too; better make sure Dr. Claw doesn’t try to ruin the Beatle’s last show.”

Flip to George Harrison, the relief expressed in the look of his face.

“Phew.  Feel much safer now that Inspector Gadget is finally here.  My moustache was starting to curl.”