As I kid I was taught to observe and be silent.
Lessons from the pedagogy telling me to,
"Sit down and shut up," Well that's what I did.

My dad used to take my sister and I on car rides
To the next town over; it was a nexus of commerce
That contrasted our quaint, little town of homes.
The purpose of these rides were to gawk at the
Potpourri of people who patronized the shops.
We would scrutinize people on their appearance,
A practice ill-advised to parents trying to raise
Their children in this society concerned with an
Evermore increasing importance on political-
Correctness. "Look at that jerk!" I once said.
My dad critiqued me, telling me that I should
Only pass judgement on their looks, nothing
Was indicative of being them being a jerk.
This past-time taught me my observant ways,
Which is how I became interested in the
Idiosyncratic behaviours of my fellow humans;
People became another text that I poured over my mind.
Instead of in a library turning pages, I sat in public
Turn my head with each passerby.

Bukowski wrote,
"If you have to sit for hours
Staring at your computer screen
Or hunched over your
Typewriter
Searching for words,
Don't do it."
I don't do it. I live my life
Letting words find me
Through my thoughts and observations
Being in a constant dialogue
With my surroundings, my words
Come with brevity
Or in great length.

Sure I sat down, and I kept my mouth shut.
But I never let one room contain me,
Be my cage, my think-tank; and I never
Gagged my mind's soliloquy while
My tongue lies in silence.
Why sit catatonic, hoping inspiration will come?
When inspiration comes with experience
And experience comes from breaking free
From that banal routine in the doldrums of life.
Now, I only sit when my feet begin to blister.