Tuesday, September 26, 2006

today Mr. Clean died...

no one really seemed to notice. most of us continued along our daily routine...
either coming or going. i glanced down at the ground and saw a candy wrapper...

he had noticed me before we formally introduced ourselves.
i think i saw him too. not for certain.
"oh i'm retired...this is where i come to hang out everyday"
his army green members only, and olive green shirt and raggady
pants led me to assume his past profession. however, i chose to
inquire..."where did you work?"
"served in the army. worked as a reserve. worked with the bank,
doing security. and then i did security for this other place that's closed
i know. i knew.
"it all paid off. i got a lot of money, and i am living off of it now. so yea,
in the middle of the day i come down here to hang out.
....ya'll gotta wear all black in there?"
he knows?
"yes sir, i believe that it is policy now."
"i know. you do visuals for mens. saw you the other day"
guess i don't see everyone that sees me.

"look at mr. clean...that man does a good job. a GOOD job.
i call him mr. clean, cuz you never see nothin layin round here..."
"yea, he has an awesome work ethic".
i have no work ethic. none.
he knows.

i told him that it had been a pleasure speaking with him, and that
i looked forward to seeing him again. as i rose, i walked past
mr. clean, smiled, and hoped that one day i would acquire
such self discipline.


we all emerged from underground utterly disgusted.
the air stank.
sorry mam..."NAH FUCK YOU...YOU MOVE!"
she forcefully bumped me of out of the way.
i stood there, stuck, trying to think of my next move.
my eyes were low, watching her boots continue
to hit the pavement. brown popcorn kernals were stuck
on the bottom of her left boot, and a used condom under
her right.
she was so ugly.
i hated her.
she disappeared.

i climbed the remaining steps, and pushed through
people with the guidance of the devil.
my heart was cold. my body was heavy and tense.
i stormed down the sidewalk, seeing nothing but colors
whizz by me. why was everyone moving so damn slow?
i glimpsed his jacket. different shirt. different pants.
he wore his members only on top of a white button up and
slacks. it all looked familiar.

kicking papers, half eaten burgers, dingy t-shirts, and a
trash bag itself i pushed through people to move closer...
it was getting harder and harder to get close to him.
i stood still. screaming at him i said...
even though there were dozens of people between him and i,
i still felt him looking at me.
"i killed mr. clean. but you already knew that"

1 comment:

fruitfly4 said...

was this a dream? artists can't hide their artistry - i see everythibg you write... so fresh