There was a man who mumbles.
I didn't understand his words -- His words like someone
trying to speak underwater.
Shuffling along in his old, beat-up sandals,
piss-stained khakis and jolly, red polo-shirt
-- embellished with yesterday's dessert,
reeking of stale beer and ciggarettes ---
greasy hair streaked with grey,
wrinkles deepened by coarse dirt,
sagging shoulders and lost, shifty eyes --
Like some mindless child left behind by mistake.
Meaninglessly
muttering, muttering and muttering --
And sometimes at you, he would point, the way you'd point
at a passing butterfly or at unlaced laces.
But people think it best to ignore him,
ignore him, ignore him --
this overgrown stray of the coffeeshop.
Ignore the fact that he was Someone once.
Someone's brother? -- Father? -- Husband?
From time to time, he would stare
at the bright colors of the hanging TV
and exclaim excitedly in gibberish before continuing
with his mad tawaf around the tables --
and all the while --
muttering, muttering and muttering
secrets from his secret world --
And the rest is just
Noise.
----- circa April 15, 2006
