Sunday Morning
Do ya
ever walk just a little off pace?
and take a look at a stranger’s face? Point in case…
Sunday morning and I’m crossing the park
it’s only bout an hour after dark. Still Fresh
the cold breeze seems to bite at my flesh, I turn my collar up
my face is far from impressed. Then I
pick up something from the corner of my right eye
it’s a white guy
slumped across a bench
suited under businessman’s trench, I recognize a slight alcohol stench
man looks tired.
staring into space, he has a pensive, yet sullen look painted on his face, so
I change pace. But
I don’t speed up. I slow down
drawn to the source of the force behind his frown, I sit down.
he looks about 45 and as we sit together in silence
there’s no one else alive
like a scene from some sort of placid apocalypse, him with his vodka lips
me with my headphones
we sit and breathe the morning’s dead tones
people still in bed tones sleepy, yet appearing clearing head tones
(Ahem) A cough
and for a second I think our bench might take off
like a spaceship
made of concrete and wood.
-It’s all good
As he speaks he turns to face me
and I notice he has a black eye that I didn’t see before
I see more,
than the average quota of worry lines around his eyes
which are deep, sunken and dark
two strangers meeting in the park Stark
differences in appearance, but there’s nobody here to judge
-You should never hold a grudge
His voice is gravely and
wisdom unravels me, so I try and stay focussed.
I ask him what he means,
he says,
-We spend too much of our time awake to be ever concerned with dreams
He looks older than he seems
and has the aura of a man coming apart at the seems
know what I mean?
-What’s all good? My next question
he says,
-Try stepping out to look in. That’s my suggestion
I say,
-that’s all good and well, but you can’t go through your whole life in 3rd person. Can you?
His face changes, position re-arranges, and what’s strange is
I’m getting more and more intrigued
both of us fatigued and yet
we proceed
to discuss the difference between what we want and what we really need
-We all bleed. Even if we never see it. So take heed or else you’ll blink and then you’ll be it. The person, the thing, that which you hate, and the ones who say it’s never too late, have never lost.
Strive for the best in a life, at what cost? Kids you hardly know, wife colder than Jack Frost? Embossed, raised questions printed on bones that never cross the mind of a million clones.
I ask him,
-Is this then a means of escape? Last bastion of manhood a beautiful poison grape.
he says,
-Don’t be dramatic. I’m just her for a drink and my thoughts I think nowadays
they call it ‘me time’
I say,
-I know what you mean, room to just breathe and be time. Close your eyes to see time.
He says,
-Yes.
Now there’s about 3 feet between us and if you’d seen us, you might’ve thought this was some seedy pursuit of penis.
but all this was was a meeting of two souls
one young, one old, one warm, one cold
-I hope you don’t think me too bold, I say
-but is there a chance that you’ve become passive as a way out? Failing to see the day out seems common in the unsure. An empty house built on bad foundations.
He says,
-Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth…
-But what if?…….. He cuts me off
-I didn’t finish. Contentment is a myth. If you have regrets
I say,
-Well, don’t get upset but, no shit Sherlock
I mean that much seems obvious.
His eyes move forward, become less hideous
As the morning son rises.
He asks my name as if he doesn’t know,
I say they call me Polarbear
but my birth certificate says Steven
-Ah Steven. Steven. He who is non-believing
I say,
-No. Somebody told me Steven means king and if I only know one thing it’s that a middle-aged man’s inebriated generalisations
should go no further than his piss-stained throne.
He hears the change in my tone and adjusts himself in response
ensconced in his own state of mind.
I find myself thinking, did I ever know this man and did he throw away his plan or was he genuinely wronged?
not sure that I’d ever know
but any and either way I feel it’s time to go, so I start to stand up, and as I do he puts his hand up. And clears his throat.
-So what’s your philosophy? What’s your ethos? Do you believe in Jesus? Or maybe the good in all men? You haven’t even seen anything yet.
I look at him, his collar wet with sweat. His face wet with tears now dry
-All I can do before I die,
I say,
-is try
to keep my eyes, my ears and my mind open. And if I do that there’ll be no need for hoping or anxieties about coping with life’s oh so many obstacles.
-You’re young
He says,
-Time changes a man
-Time changes everything
I reply.
-I have to try and change myself.
So enjoy your drink and your thoughts and as you add up the 1’s and the noughts, be sure to allow for the future.
He offers his hand
to shake it do I take it?
of course I do I can’t begrudge this man anything.
But as I walk away from his coch of cold concrete and wood
I feel somewhere between good and not so good
yet none the less inspired
the thought grows in me that I could be pre-wired to share that same fate
whether early or late I could wake up in that same state on that same throne of the once great.
Maybe
or maybe
If I remain bold I can break the mould of the old grown cold
and breathe out the false promises told.
I don’t know
I hope so
A dog barks
just as I reach the edge of the park
and for the snap back to reality I am glad
cos see now every epiphany feels like a gift to me
as I glance back
at my distant old man
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
Comment Form