What is normal was the question?
Each ‘expert’ offered his or her explanation
One, which of course suited themselves.
“It’s all to do with context,” said another,
“It depends upon the place and time in which you live.
My normal is not yours, and you’d be right to say so
But we get hung up on thinking we are so.”
“Normal is all about being who you are,
Where constancy is the order of the day.
It’s different for the lunatic, as compared to the brain surgeon.”
The ‘experts’ listened and nodded approval
For them, normalcy was within their own particular space.
But when the man from the far side of the room
Spoke about not wanting a normal life
They understood he wanted to challenge and explore his world,
Not accept complacency or a set order
But to challenge himself
And find new ‘normals’, one’s he might take on or discard.
“My normal is fluid,” he said, “I like the notion of slipping from one to another.”
“I find it useful to think without my pants,” he said removing his trousers and revealing a sparkling pair of striped briefs.
The looks of horror on the faces of the others told what they thought of his ‘normal’, but at the same time, they could see where he was coming from.