Minus the Mask

Shunted down railroad lines,

Sardines in tines, towards the fishery.

Get off at Southern Cross and climb the stairs,

Ramps and concrete everywhere,

Up, along, down.

To the milling masses in masks,

Cavorting and yelling and making a scene.

Somehow all beyond reproach thus far.

Scan the crowd, roll your eyes,

For this, you decided to rise

out of bed.

They hurt your head and you haven't even descended.

And you're counting down the seconds until this farce

is ended.

There's a pair of red and black pants in the throng,

So come along. You've got a friend to meet in there.

Descend the stairs, let out a sigh, give him a hug.

You've brought a gift, aren't you lovely?

He likes it. That's a plus. And then somebody comes along,

and reminds you bluntly that you're not

one of us.

You stand about the place for a half hour,

They get louder, cruder, shouting and singing.

For this you decided to rise.

And then at last you start to move,

Over roads and down the street with you at their head.

Better to be at the head then in the midst,

You wouldn't want to be drawn in and then ejected.

Your companions notice that you're dejected,

and try to make you smile -

And you do, for a while.

Until you realise that these cavorting, masked masses

are boarding a tram.

And you have to get on with them.

And listen to their conversations,

Spouting memes as if they invented the words,

Bitching about everyone they've ever met,

Cool story bro,

And she's a ho,

And did you see the Facebook page?

Or all the rage on the Youtube stage?

You pray you weren't as bad as all that

at that age.

And then you get there.

A few more streets.

A few more moments of sheer horror,

At the sheer vapidity and crass

nature of the milling mass.

And you arrive and ascend the final stairs,

To flashing lights and a sea of balloons,

And you realise that you're surrounded

by bodies awash with chemicals and motivations

that you long since discarded.

Turn your tail and flee.

Go! Get out!

Forget your companions,

They're lost in the roiling mess.

And you'll be next.

And the worst part is that the majority are masked.

From train station to tram to deafening club.

And somehow this makes their pathetic jibes,

their disgusting idiocy and youth

all the more horrific for the fact that you can't see their faces.

Can't see their eyes,

Can't remind yourself that they have souls,

and that they are like you.

Perhaps that's for the best.