I arch my back, suddenly feral, mouth wide:
an attack of instinct despite the busily civilized street.
I thought a roar, then, a scream
might escape my caged heart to fly for sky,
but no, my deep primordial self seems
tired of so many howls
and out comes: a yawn.
I’m not throwing in the towel
I’m just overwhelmed
and I like this air,
polluted though it may be…
I slacken, straighten my back and look around, sheepish,
laughing, thinking what they must think,
looking (hoping, yearning) all the while for strangers’ amused smiles
