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