A character in my novel finds an empty pop bottle littered on the ground. He sees a piece of paper taped to the side, and letting his curiosity get the better of him, he checks what the paper reads.

It reads: Ecstatic Sidelines.

What does it mean? He doesn't know. He asks another character quickly after. She writes it off as nothing, but tells him that perhaps they should make up a meaning for it.

That meaning is what brought this poem to be created. It will appear in the book as written by the character who found the piece of paper, but I felt like sharing it outside of context anyways.


From the book (pardon the lack of formatting - DA removes it):

Erica dipped her bread into the soup. "Ecstatic Sidelines. Does that imply ecstasy from being off on the side?"
"What?"
"Just thinking out loud about nothing really here, but when I hear Ecstatic Sidelines, I think of people that are on the sidelines - you know, not in the game. Observers. The anxious. The awkward. The sidelines are a place where those people are okay. Ecstatic Sidelines would indicate people who reside in those columns, except happily."
Jason thought about a person who fit one of those descriptions standing outside on a snowy winter evening. He pictured that person looking through a window at others who seemed much happier than him - a common image, for sure: someone on the outside, unhappily looking in. He then ate some more soup.
"So Ecstatic Sidelines - you're saying it could mean happily standing on the outside?"
"Well, you said it probably didn't mean anything. Why not try and make it mean something? With how much meaningless worth there is out there, even the smallest little thing could mean something."
"I like that idea, though. Happily being on the outside. That's like proclaiming, 'hey world! I stand outside of your preconceived notions of how I should be living, and I'm ecstatic about it!'"
"Makes me think of punk shows."
"Actually, me too. The whole searching aspect of it." Jason scratched his head. "I like it. I'm on the ecstatic sidelines. I'm rejecting commercial music, rejecting working a crappy job I'm sure to hate - refusing to step out onto the playing field of conformist ideals and staying on the sidelines, happily mocking anyone who tries to steer me elsewhere." Jason smiled and took some more soup.
"Are you sure you don't listen to as much punk rock as you used to?"
They laughed. "A fraction as much. From time to time."