They wrapped me in cellophane and set me in the middle of the plaza where I waited while the sun and rain eroded me and pigeons defecated on my head. People asked me what was I waiting for. Through the plastic I shouted that I needed someone to release me. Their well-intentioned fingers fumbled and eventually gave up and they went about their lives until I was just the man wrapped in plastic at the center of the plaza. I became a meeting point. Kids would say, “Let’s meet at the Man after school. Bring your ball.” […]
Comments
2 responses to “Plastic Wrapped”
Bella metáfora de tantas vidas atrapadas en los mandatos y estructuras convencionales. Mi pregunta es si se llega realmente a ser dueño absoluto del propio destino. Hermoso texto Kevin
What a poignant story of liberation! It ends very optimistically, even jubilant, which is heartening after such dejected scenes. I still think, though, that “I am the others” as the young Rimbaud put it. We’re always fighting off the plastic wrap. Let’s keep fighting!