Point Serenity

Out on the point he stood
Eyes steeled
Body lashed
Assailed by storms
The stench of millennia
Races past him
Though he only notices
In absentia

Many an hour like this
Hardly moving

Call him Status Quo Ennui

Colours and numbers careen
Clouding his vision
Until he must look away

Still he concentrates

Then

A wild flurry of motion

He raises an arm
Frantically waving a flag
It’s blue all but lost
In the haze of weather and spray

The driver sees it
Easing just a fraction
As the lead car laps him

Our man returns to his pose
His one bit of action
Now history

Many hours later
His friends recite the days’ events
He has nil to offer

That’s ok though

These friends

These smells

These are why he is a flaggy.

© 2008, Mosquitobyte