Mannequin Man (Manee-Man) - JLG Clift

Excuse me but do I know you? Didn’t you come to my door, not this Tuesday but the Tuesday before? Maybe it wasn’t you, my words aren’t true like as not but thanks a lot for stopping by for that second that you did before you hid beneath the brim of that tabloid bequeathing you with tits and knowledge and that music in your ears. Who’s singing? They sound good; sorry I probably should go, you go about your way. It’s embarrassing really my apologies extend like wine-less vines once again over another case of misremembered de-ja-vu I’m sorry, once again, that I’ve disturbed you.

 I see you’re reading that article on page 6; isn’t it sad that that’s true and that men really are no different from animals? Isn’t it a tough world to chew? The toughest I ever knew I tell you that much but once more I’m sorry; go about your way; don’t mind me I’m just talking just clutching trying to put some colour into the grey of my day even if that colour turns to blue even sadness would do to be honest something’s better than nothing and nothing is what always seems to stay after people fade away; blue would do but laughter would do better but I should let you get going.

 It’s just I’m lonely these days.

I just keep talking my life’s a haze and my mind’s impaled in the shards of this winter’s frozen tails of hail like Vlad’s steaks quaking in the sunshine (but never melting) but I don’t know why I’m this way; my life’s been fine everything's done everything's complete I’ve got nothing to do but beat my feet across the slick of inner city street in rain and that’s the problem that’s why I keep trying to intertwine my world with another’s and again; again I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’ve got my mother’s gift of the gab; my speech has always been mangled it’s always been sluggish my tongue thudding dully spreading speech sullied even more by my wispy lisp but I’ve hidden that well I hope; I hope too much I think I think too much too that’s also very true but I can’t help it.

 Thought holds court over my world now because with no one to talk to how do I know I am if I’m not thinking? Who said that line by the way? Do you know? It’s a long shot but come on give it a go your guess is as good as mine; come on it’s just a guess it’s just a wrong answer at worst hardly a clandestine caper speaking of which have you reached that howler in the paper yet? The one about the windshield wiper the nun the lift and the vet?

It’s like a Faulty Tower tangent I do declare; I imagine the sight of those two must have raked in a few stares from the crowd on the ground floor who were probably wondering what the rosary beads were used for, you know, before the bloke broke the story to the press about divine intervention releasing the tension from his morning glory. I bet that’s going to get quite the mention at the office this morning; personally I hope the fucker loses it all including his pension; I can’t believe he let a lady of the lord board him like she did not that she was a real lady of course but it’s the thought the image the idea he didn’t know that when he leered towards her rear; in reality she was an escort with a talent for twisting into contorts recently divorced I heard because she caused such a stir in her "husband’s" haggard heart that it nearly never started again but of course if they ever interviewed her I’m sure she’d hear nun of that;  sorry awful pun, it’s a bad habit; sorry another again this is a gift from my mother’s side but I’m keeping you you just go back to hiding headphones glued in mediocre music up full still staring at the paper page that's been read but I can see you in your head through your eyes praying towards the sky that I go so that you can get on with your day; I’m so sorry that I got in your way really I am I know you think I really don’t give a damn but I do I really do it’s just I’ve been lonely and longing to know you for so long months actually since that house party in September when you spilled your drink on me not that you’d remember that obviously the only reason I do is because I’m lonely you see but I don’t want the lonely to define me in your bob topped mind although I already know it has; if only there was more to your view of another than what ‘is’ if only you knew what I could be if you cared but you don’t and I just shared for nothing but an empty barrage of shifting stares.

I’ll be going now so you can go on with your life and let me fade, lonesome and loathsome into the façade of your Monday hunched my lips bunched into a chapped burst ball of quasi-rubber looking always for another but always feeling like the other in the office on the train; admit it; to you I’m nothing more than the tawny stain on your best beige blouse the one you look at with nothing but distain.

 Whatever it doesn’t matter you won’t answer you’re not even listening to my refrain I only hope as I go hunched shelter-less into the city with the hurricane approaching that you don’t feel the pain of becoming nothing more than a stain on the society you used to be in not that you ever will be because of course you’re better than me, aren’t you? Fitter happier more productive because you're more to me than I am too you but before you go I’ve got a question:

Those mannequins in the shops at the Circus where you get off, would you stop if they were naked?

Void of the labours of luxury labels the fables of fashion long gone no longer coated in camouflage to get your attention no mentions of style or sex or popularity just the waxy clarity in the bare of their pale plastic flesh disgusting (but forgettably so) even in the kindest light; I don't think you'd have to stare for long before you cast them from your sight because why would you care if there's nothing there for you to covet. Am I right? Are you wrong? You're neither. You're gone. And so am I.