There is this guy see
who lives upstairs from me
he’s the weird upstairs walking guy
walks and walks
but he never says hi – until today
he looked disheveled and bruised
hair all a muss
toting a bank bag full of money
and I’m wondering what all the walking is for
floor to floor
he walks and walks
till a quarter to four

Is he shooting darts
or is he shooting junk
is he hiding a decapitated head
in a hand-carved wooden trunk
has he stashed away the body of Cinderella
takes her out in the deep of night
combs her brittle golden locks
until she looks just right
props her up on the couch beside him
as they munch popcorn
and watch “I am Sam …”

Or maybe he’s a Buddhist
with incense and candles
and lots and lots of fluffy pillows
he kneels on his straw mat
and bows to the sun or to the moon
or to the neighbor beating his dog and grandma
with a pinecone and a bat

I always see him solo
never with a mate
and I wonder what his story is
what is his twisted tale of fate
how old is he
how much does he weigh
does he believe in Jesus
or follow his own way
what does he think about
when he drives to Albuquerque
does he play a Steinway
or toot on a green bottle flute
enticing the charms
to rise from the ashes buried in his carpet
does he drink white wine or red
what does it mean
when he screams like that
is it merely bad dreams
or frustration bubbling to the surface
in the form of dragon fizz and warm oil

Does he watch Regis and Oprah
and maybe Dr. Phil
or does he watch the motion on the ocean
three vodkas and three pills
is he a menace to society
or one of the popes
does he smoke razor blades
or psychedelic dope
is he a war veteran
or a homosexual
does he eat pot pies
or filet mignon
is he French
or is he Irish
does he have nightmares
or fairy tale dreams
does he have children
or maybe a wife
has he attempted suicide
with a rusty fruit knife
has he called on Allah
to save this bloody world
or does he sit back and sip martinis
whilst smoking Izmir Stingers
not really giving a damn
about his brain anymore

All this I wonder
but don’t really care
I wish he would just stop walking
and leave me to my Russian bear
the one that looks me in the mirror
and says…
Please don’t stare.

By

Aaron Echoes August