This one's for the lost children, wishing them well and wishing them homeThe king is dead.
His followers took to the streets, tears streaming down their cheeks. They lit candles and lay cloth posters on public cement, the words of '80s pop hits softly escaping their lips. Michael Jackson is no more.
The tabloids are sick with excitement. Fresh blood will be printed on tomorrow's glossy pages. First Ed McMahon, then Farrah Fawcet, now this. Goodbye Jon and Kate, hello funeral fashion.
The pack in Dundas Square have seen better days. They've been thrown off course, wandering behind a lost prophet. In the middle of the cross-legged circle, two homage hats sit atop dark curls. Across their chests, the words "Michael Jackson" are cracking off vintage concert tee shirts. Those shows have long past.
One girl clutches a photograph of Jackson atop a car, surrounded by a sea of cameras, umbrella in hand. She's rocking back and forth, staring into the ground. A woman crying into a cell phone raises her eyes towards the sky and wipes the eyeliner tears from her cheeks. "I'm just so emotional..." she trails off.
Most are here for the spectacle. One admits her friends faked being fans to get on the evening news. Others take pictures, stare, and wonder aloud how this this is possibly the solution to death of a pop star. The true believers don't care. They followed Jackson through glory, despair, and madness; and they will follow him through death.
Long live the king.
1 comment:
its so weird because i'm not a huge fun but his music was present in my childhood and in the past few days when i've read quotes from his celeb friends i've started on the path to tears. it's really surreal!
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