I walk against the Monday morning swarm
Of men in suits
and ties, women in heels;
Because I’m not dressed in their uniform,
None of them look
at me. This blindness feels
Both liberating and insulting, like
There’s a great
sea of cars, all thinking: “Hey!
Who is that idiot riding the bike?
And even
worse—he’s going the wrong way!”
Ah, worker ants—they go nuts when they see
A loner, or hear a
dissenting word.
The badge of individuality
Is only worn by
members of the herd.
My badge says
outcast—and I have to say
I wouldn’t have
it any other way.
Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells
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