TiananRooster Square

The city breathes, heaving bits of itself here and there. People, packaged neatly in cars, slide down streets in the rhythm of urban spiration. Yesterday, I joined the metropolitan flow, slack-jawed and drooling at 45mph on my way to buy melatonin and coffee (two drugs destined to war with one another in my bloodstream). The people moved, the gasoline burned, the asphalt hummed--a continued refrain of the endless song of commerce echoing down the avenues of the city.

Until everything was stopped by a rooster.

Not far ahead, the oncoming traffic stood still. 8 cars parked in the road for seemingly no reason, no intersection or obstruction available for explanation. Soon though, I saw the reason: a rooster. It was terribly ugly affair of a creature, ragged feathers sprouting everywhere, no discernible features besides its shape and its pencil legs. And it stood facing the line of cars, a silent protest against the humming progress of the city.

Then it saw me, I guess, and brought the fight to my lane. It darted across the yellow and planted itself directly ahead of me. I slowed to a stop, while the oncoming traffic began to inch forward. But this would not stand. The rooster was to be master of two worlds, flashing back into the other lane and once again bringing the oncoming traffic to a halt. As I began to accelerate, it returned to my lane.

And so it went, back-and-forth a handful of times, earnest to plug the artery of Lombard Street ad infinitum.

But the best part about this entire scene, extraordinary as it already was, was the lone pedestrian spectator. Planted on the sidewalk directly adjacent to the rooster (on the 50 yard line, if you will) was a homeless man bundled against the cold. His face was as worn as his coat, and about the same color as well. He was the very definition of the word chapped. From within his mess of facial wrinkles emerged a sharp, heaving laughter. I don’t know if this man was attached to the rooster or if he just opened his eyes from a late-morning nap--it doesn't really matter. But the misfortune of a dozen drivers, held back by one crazed rooster, was clearly a significant and joyful punctuation to his day.

For that man’s smile, and for the absurdity of 20 tons of automobile brought to a halt for 3 pounds of rooster, I am deeply grateful.

Such is the poetry of the ordinary.