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Wednesday Day-mare
I sit in the back of the number 8 bus, face to the window, eyes vacantly staring through the passing offices, department stores and starbuckses. The heater whirrs, the brakes screetch, fellow passengers fidget with their bags and coats. The red bricks of the 5th ave busmall pass in inoffensive consistency until they are harshly interrupted 3 vertical, chrome columns toped with boulders, designer unknown. And then she appears: hair frozen in an ever blowing wind, trident poised to strike. I shudder under the shadow of the 36 foot high hammered copper statue, second in size only to the Statue of Liberty, as I ponder the effects of her rage on my traffic and environment friendly bus. Will she smash us to a fine powder to be ground into the pavement, mixed with the pidgeon droppings and spilt coffee? Will she swipe us off the road into the modern highrise opposite that holds my stock broker's office? Or will she today let us pass on our way to PSU, OHSU and the Veteran's Hospital? Today she spares us. We take a right, heading toward Broadway. I no longer can see her, peering over the third floor platform of the Portland Building, down through the nearly naked trees, at the flood of Portlanders in transit, but there she will sit, uncontested, till tomorrow's journey brings me again beneath her reign.
I sit in the back of the number 8 bus, face to the window, eyes vacantly staring through the passing offices, department stores and starbuckses. The heater whirrs, the brakes screetch, fellow passengers fidget with their bags and coats. The red bricks of the 5th ave busmall pass in inoffensive consistency until they are harshly interrupted 3 vertical, chrome columns toped with boulders, designer unknown. And then she appears: hair frozen in an ever blowing wind, trident poised to strike. I shudder under the shadow of the 36 foot high hammered copper statue, second in size only to the Statue of Liberty, as I ponder the effects of her rage on my traffic and environment friendly bus. Will she smash us to a fine powder to be ground into the pavement, mixed with the pidgeon droppings and spilt coffee? Will she swipe us off the road into the modern highrise opposite that holds my stock broker's office? Or will she today let us pass on our way to PSU, OHSU and the Veteran's Hospital? Today she spares us. We take a right, heading toward Broadway. I no longer can see her, peering over the third floor platform of the Portland Building, down through the nearly naked trees, at the flood of Portlanders in transit, but there she will sit, uncontested, till tomorrow's journey brings me again beneath her reign.
4 comments:
it's kind of like Jason and the Argonauts. Or the monster Scylla, perhaps?
Ah, Portlandia. Your femenine mystery is as dangerous as it is intriguing.
EPPPPPPP she's the freakiest thing ever. Man, I could totally picture her taken on P-town!
oooh pictures! Thanks. She... almost looks familiar?
I've always hated that statue.
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