The Man

A narrative poem about a man, not unlike you and I, in a desperate living situation.

He sits in the same location he sat yesterday,

Sitting the same way he sat yesterday. 

He is wearing the same clothes he was wearing yesterday;

The same brown coat,

The same black shirt,

The same black shoes,

The same thick black pants. 

He even has the same expression upon his face

That he had yesterday,

The same hopeless expression. 

It is unlikely that his status will change today. 

After all,

His status hasn’t changed in months,

Though one could argue

That stretch of time has been longer. 

He no longer can remember. 

All the days are the same for him. 

With each day that passes for him

It is impossible for him

To differentiate one from another.

He has not spoken to anyone

In what seems like eons. 

He doesn’t even know

If he still has the ability to speak anymore. 

Perhaps he has lost his ability to speak

Just as he lost everything else. 

His everything and his nothing. 

His standing and himself. 

It is all gone,

Never to return. 

That’s what he believes, anyways. 

He has not eaten in nigh a week,

Or at least it seems that way to him,

And he does not honestly expect to eat today. 

He has not bathed for a length of time

That only God alone knows. 

His hair is infested with all sorts of lice,

And he reeks of a foul odor

Not unlike that of deeply rotting flesh. 

He cannot remember the last time

He has laid eyes upon soap. 

He cannot remember the feel of it, either. 

He cannot remember the feel of a lot of things. 

He cannot remember how he got to this position in life. 

He cannot remember what he had done prior in life. 

He cannot even remember his own name.

He likes to think sometimes

That he was once of some great importance. 

Perhaps he was,

For life is a rather queer thing. 

Perhaps, though, he was nothing. 

Maybe more of something than what he is now,

But still less then most. 

Did he have a well paying job? 

Did he have any sort of job at all? 

Did he have a woman who loved him? 

Or perhaps a man who loved him? 

Was he loved at all? 

Did he love? 

Was he a fair man? 

Was he an a*****e? 

Does anyone know? 

He certainly doesn’t,

Not anymore at least. 

What he does know is that

This is the best his life is going to get

From here on out. 

Things won’t be getting any better,

He assumes,

And if his life should change,

It would be for the worst. 

He has no hope left for anything. 

He has not a penny in his pocket,

Not a cent to his name. 

And, on the grounds that

He can no longer remember what it is,

He has no name at all. 

He might as well be dead. 

Perhaps he already is.

The man now searches the streets for food. 

He is positive that he will find some. 

There are restaurants all over the town,

Especially the area he finds himself this evening. 

Some of them are rather high class as well. 

What he does doubt, however,

Is that he will be eating tonight. 

He has no funds with which to purchase food,

And the residents of this town,

Particularly those of this part of town,

Are the furthest thing from giving. 

In fact, some of them deliberately

Go out of their way to ridicule those like him. 

And he knows this. 

He’s suffered through casual insults,

And he’s suffered through beatings. 

He’s been spat upon,

Pissed upon,

Shat upon. 

And for what reason? 

Because of what he is.

He now finds himself outside

Of a rather divine restaurant. 

Through the window,

He observes the activities of the ladies and gentlemen inside. 

They are obviously living the good life

With not a care in the world. 

They seem to be immensely enjoying

Their exquisite and expensive meals. 

But then again,

Who wouldn’t be enjoying such food,

The man thought to himself

Outside in the cold of the night. 

The man continues to stare into the establishment,

Licking his lips in envy. 

If only he could be eating such grand food. 

If only he could be eating inside. 

If only he could be inside in general. 

If only.

Someone, a fine looking lad, from inside the establishment

Walks outside and walks up the man. 

And he says to him: 

“Sir, would you please vacate the premise? 

You are disturbing our customers.” 

The man has heard this all before. 

He has heard it many times before.

And he did the same thing now

That he did the other times. 

He complied. 

He walked away. 

Why wouldn’t he? 

What else could he have done? 

He has no money in the world. 

He has no standing in the world. 

He has nothing. 

Sure, he could have fought,

With words or with fists. 

Certainly he could have,

But what would that do? 

He would only get into trouble. 

And, whenever he happens into trouble,

The odds are always severely against him. 

It has happened every single time,

And he had learned not to get involved with such trouble

When he has a convenient enough way out.

And now,

The man once again wanders the streets. 

He wanders down the fading lights

Of the streets as the dark grows nearer. 

He is still starving,

Still not having eaten anything. 

And he still doubts he will eat tonight.

Reviews

[zachary<]

DEEP brother
DEEP.
very long and well writen. :)
u could make this into an epic i feel.
wondrous!