Blowing Off Steam
by Odin Roark

Being a little mad is essential,
Otherwise, existing might necessitate a strait jacket.

He wasn’t alone.

Sidewalks were strewn with them,
Whether under-the-bridge encampments,
Or penthouse luxuries,
People were people,
And madness was madness,
And purging was necessary.

How tenuous the steam beneath the lid,
How quiet the whistle at times,
Desiring merely to signal the time
To pour out the contents,
Be it angst,
Or expression needing expressing,
Subjectivity seeking its objective resolve.

Yet…

He thought far too many quash the heat that whistles at them,
Fearful that boiling over might ensue
Instead of merely lifting the pressure,
Pouring the rise-in-heat contents
Into a encapsulation that can be contemplated
As it cools.

His daily ritual of waiting as it becomes sippable,
Reminded him that this little bit of madness
So essential to sanity,
Relied on finding respite in its catharsis.

He understood this momentary going off the rails
Needn’t be a case of judgmental attack
Merely a freedom of opinion exercise, and…
He was okay with being the minority,
Blowing off steam occasionally.
He wasn’t fearful of sanity’s dichotomy.