Gum Thoughts

How did this even begin?  What person or persons unknown stuck their gum to this wall, from cheek and jowl, to wall appearance foul?  What person or persons unknown made a decision, whether from disgust or from purposeful guerilla tactic, to leave their gum in place to transform from a sticky mess to vibrant and gaudy art? 

From ground to as high as a mortal can reach with little assist, from edge of building to every opening to edge of building this wall is covered.  Piece by piece, methodically chewed, all flavor removed till all that remains is the rosin and colors and the memories of bubbles and shared chews and flavor smacked while cavorting with friends while waiting in line or joining for a smoke or watching the crowds.  And stuck in that rosin the lives and memories of thousands of boys and girls mingled to collective thought converting a simple blank brick canvas to a collective theatre of art. 

Hearts show the love of a boy for his girl: look I have stretched this simple piece of grape flavored gum and ventured to stick it to the wall over all this other gum in the shape of a heart, and I deigned to place our initials in stretched white gum: A H and G O.  I perform this act of art to show my love for you.

And flags, oh say can you see by this alleys yellow light, all the gumballs we chew, and stick them for you. Did you know?  Ninety percent of the world’s gumballs are manufactured in Canada.  With patriotic fervor the boys and girls chew a foreign object extracting the resources and show their appreciation by placing the debris of their hubris to this wall. 

Messages to friends.  Josh says Hi.  Kate says Hi back.  Pennies and nickels sandwiched between two sticky morsels to add fiduciary value to our monument.  The tide of this mess is rising so it covers signs, it camouflages the doors, and even is slowly encroaching the ticket window till one fears in future one will never gain access to the theatre beneath held together by cover of public health menace over.  This place, second only to the Blarney Stone as one of the germiest spots on earth.

The wall fascinates and repulses at once.  You want nothing but to stay back from the wall knowing where it all has been.  Yet you are drawn, fascinated as drivers are drawn to an accident.  The years of message, the history of these boys and girls, are woven into the rosin and latex and color and sweeteners.  Oh if I could only see the stories, hear the voices.  I cannot.  I can only imagine these children in joy on Post Alley.  And I smile happy.