Conspiratorially Yours

by Chi Sherman

Shortly after sunrise on Friday morning, I paired a black and white blouse with dark grey slacks, black loafers, and turquoise earrings for a pop of color; let my hands flirt with my short, wavy hair; slid into a short black trench, donned shades, and cranked up my iPod when the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack entered my musical queue. Exiting my apartment, I walked towards the train station where, between the entrance into the Ninth Street tunnel and emergence onto Wexter Avenue, I became a spy. “Oh Saya” beat with its drum-fierce intensity; I breathed in the ochre dust and orange silks I saw every time I heard the song and I felt my hips straining against the belt of my trench coat. Spies do not dance in public, I silently admonished myself, allowing a soft rocking of my body against the seat back while inventing coded phrases that would reveal the location of an enemy state’s nuclear weapons, cryptic announcements involving all manner of weapon and waterfowl. Ducks are imaginary; the balloon police dance, nightsticks holstered. That the arrival of the trench coat, the soundtrack, and a DVD of Jumpin’ Jack Flash happened simultaneously last night is merely a coincidence.


Chi Sherman is an Indianapolis-based writer who has authored and self-published three chapbooks of poetry and creative nonfiction ("amative," "beneath this skin," and "mosaic"), as well as a spoken-word CD, "wild / tendril." (Click here to make a donation to Chi, half of which will support 6S.)