Haunt & Hang

 

I’m alone in Carrow’s waiting for my pancakes

Two old men sit in the booth nearby

The remnants of toast, eggs and the crumpled napkins

of their lives splayed out on the table in front of them

I’m alone and ear hustling, the passenger and participant observer:

 

“The days go by so fast. Before I know it, it’s dark”

“What do you do all day?” 

“Nothing”

“Well that’s why. I like to be doing something. I have to be doing something.”  

He shows his fingers, waves them like tan gnarled wands

There is a long pause.

They sip coffee and stare at each other

The din of Carrows is enough and it isn’t

An awkward wrinkle in the time slipping away

 

The days go by so fast. Before I know it, it’s dark.  

He says it again, it’s a stone that won’t settle

The other one shrugs.

“What does Richard do all day?”

“I don’t know. I’m not with him. You have to ask him. I don’t know what he does.”

“He used to play with his girlfriend all day.” 

“I don’t know.”

“How’s your girlfriend?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a year.”

The check comes and

They fight over it

One wants to pay; the other refuses

The refuser gets up grabs the check

He’s nimble, abrupt and walks to the cashier

The one for whom darkness comes quickly

pulls a wad of bills out and grunts

he stuffs them back into his grey

old man suspendered trousers

shrugs, grabs his cane, rises slowly

and limps away from the booth

away from the crumpled napkins

towards his elusive, grumpy companion

maybe they’ll face the day together

maybe the other one’s sick of the surly bastard

with a cane

 

I’m drawing parallels between this man

And my own life and wonder

What my own cane will look like

About the darkness

About the days and passage

Of time and which Carrows will be my

Haunt and hang

 

I finish my pancakes and tip guiltily

The place is making my head hurt

and what’s left of my heart heavy

the air inside is more stifling than out

an autistic adult runs by me flapping his hands

a toy car in hand, he’s leviathan and could do damage

I envy his sensory scrambling

Looking for clues in the malaise maybe he knows something

That we all missed, maybe the message is in between the

Mixed signals, maybe there’s order we’re missing

his mother stands professionally stoic, phone in hand

blocking egress from the restaurant

and entrance to the bathroom

Having just lorded over a table of confidants

her daily coffee klatch, regulars to be sure

it’s apparent that this is their routine

the autistic flapper sitting in between all of them

discussions of resource availability,

a support system for the uninitiated

about the machine and its inner workings

She’s imploring them to  call The Regional Center

A couple are nodding, mopping up eggs with toast

Slurping coffee and the relentless muzak

Is a terrible soundtrack

I can’t quite make out,

all of this makes sense as I do my own limping

out the door and into the furnace,

I wonder about Richard

And what it’s like to have a girlfriend

That you don’t have to wait a year to see,

To have tan gnarled wands for hands

To have a purpose

To wait for the night

To not eat pancakes alone

To not be in a hurry

I wonder and then before I know it

It’s dark

It’s night

And I write it all out

I tell the moons and stars about it

I want someone to wonder about me

I want someone to argue with about buying breakfast

The decree of years, they’re a stone

Before I know it, it’s dark.

It’s night

And the days go by

so fast.

 

(August 2016. El Sereno, CA)