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Mr. Walker

Author: MyX
ASL Info:    27/m/Ohio
Elite Ratio:    4.38 - 932 /973 /107
Words: 761
Class/Type: Prose /Longing
Total Views: 2413
Average Vote:    3.0000
Bytes: 5265


effusion through an alter ego. or something like that.

Mr. Walker

Mr. Walker

Each morning, Mr. Walker awakes
to the sound of Mr. Beckham
pulling out of his driveway
at 7:45am.
Then he hears the distant noise
of a flagpole clanging
and a school bell ringing.

At 8:00am exactly,
every single morning
Mr. Walker carefully
rolls himself out of bed
and struggles to his feet.
He slips on a robe
and walks into the next room,
pausing at a dresser
with a grand vanity mirror,
before taking each concentrated step
down the stairs.

He fetches the paper,
sits on his easy chair
and reads the headlines
with a look of brief interest,
tinged with disgust.
Shaking his head,
he plucks out the weather report
and then the comics,
Beatle Bailey,
and snickers to himself.

After a bath
and a choosing of clothes,
Mr. Walker stands
before a mirror.
Picking at his disheveled hair,
bushed and tousled like the
chaos of a blizzard,
he works in hair tonic
installs his teeth
glances over an outdated bus schedule
(even though he knows he'll walk)
and double checks the weather report,
layers himself appropriately
and sets out for the day.

Another cold one, Mr.Walker
he would hear a voice say.

In his slow motion life,
Mr. Walker maintains the same itinerary.
Like an insect missing a leg,
he unhurriedly makes his way up the street
to a crosswalk where he waits patiently
for a clearing in the hissing traffic.
And takes a moment to catch his breath
at the other side.

Mr. Walker visits his favorite coffee shop.
He greets them by name
and a
"Hello Mr. Walker!" makes his day.
But after that he is left alone at his table
where he remains for hours sipping his
coffee that is always ready for him
by the time he sits down.
On Fridays, he orders food.
That is always ready too.

Mr. Walker then heads to the grocery store,
meanders up and down the aisles
until he finds the deli that he has
always gone to.
Flirts with the meat lady,
ponders awhile,
and walks off with his olive loaf
as he always had.

On the way home,
Mr. Walker will stop by
Hal Knox's place,
where the two of them
sit in lawn chairs in the yard
and discuss the 5-day forecast,
and whether or not
Mable's grandkid came by to
mow her lawn last weekend.

Then Mr. Walker will rise again,
stretch his arms, retrieve his olive loaf
and set off on his journey for home
just down the street.

Mr. Walker mails many letters,
to his daughter,
to old friends,
and sometimes to his late wife
where he keeps them in an old
shoebox beneath her bed.
Every now and then a letter
to an old friend
returns to him.
He tosses it into the trash
and scribbles out their names
in his threadbare address book.

He flips through the television
in the evening time.
The news,
Gilligan's Island,
and for a brief moment
he listens to the scrambled set
of the adult channel
before switching it off
and ascending the stairs.

Mr. Walker slips off his clothes
and tucks himself in beneath
a warm blanket.
Before his foolish thoughts of death,
and his moon hidden away by blinds
he reminisces.
His days in the service,
His daughter's wedding,
And as a child,
digging up crawfish in the creek.

He wonders every night
if this is his last,
with nothing left to look forward to,
a world around him that will not change.
But none of this seems
to bother Mr. Walker at all,
he still smiles just the same.

in the middle of the night,
he'll walk across the room
to a jewelry box and retrieve
a pair of earrings,
cup them in his hands
and hold them to his heart.
Through a timeless sigh
that takes forever,
his bushy white eyebrows,
fold over his eyes,
just like an angel’s wings.

All of his beautiful memories
form into a single drop
that slowly scales down his face,
right down to his quivering,

Mr. Walker.
He would lay back down.
Close his eyes.
And slowly drift off
like an old antiquity
beneath attic sheets.
Stepping one step
closer each night
to the sweet welcoming
that has long awaited
and will soon receive him.

Goodnight, Mr. Walker

Submitted on 2009-06-22 22:11:31     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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1: >_<
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5: Wow!


  it was long as [censored] but worth it
you have an uncanny talent for analogies and descriptions
its nothing short of inspiring that unlike most you don't let your talents go ta shyt
rlly guy looks like imma read all yer junk here

...feel like a stalker

..she aint a waitress but she gone serve meh

| Posted on 2010-03-24 00:00:00 | by MINTPATTY | [ Reply to This ]
  awe...Michael...this is a softer side of you
(one we ALL KNOW is there but good to see in written form)
I have many mixed emotions with this write. First there is the simple fact that we're all taking small steps toward "The Golden Age" and that is a big fear for most people....being alone...losing loved ones...the natural decay of the body/health we once knew...and everyone treating you like you're a child all over again. For the life of me I cannot figure out why they call it the
Golden Agef if it is so fricken Golden then all of the above would be only for the NASTY people who could never find time to be kind.
The worst thing for me is going to be people around me not seeing the ME that I'm always going to be...hmmm


Right now I love my tattoos/piercings rock and roll candy wearing clothing that is NOT geared toward my Age group so on and yadda yadda
What scares me is that once I'm older and everything is still intact (memories of youth and good ol' days)
people will treat me like a OLD crazy who has lost her mind....and not wanna hear about tripping at Pink Floyd with the Pig flying around the other history being insignificant
but such is the circle of life right...hmm...yeah

You give this man such wonderful detail...from his waking to bedding down (sometimes for the night).
I can literally see some of the older people in my life through this story...I can actually FEEL them through it so Thank You for that and for them because with this voice you have giving they're memory something concrete that we can cradle...that my friend is a beautiful thing;)

In his slow motion life,
Mr. Walker maintains the same itinerary.
Like an insect missing a leg,

LOVE that...we all do our part to Break free of the routine and Mix it Up a little but how comforting that same routine can be once there isn't much left

I agree I was a little shocked when I started reading...thinking to myself...did I just stumble into someone else's page/poem/story but I have always seen this side of you whether you like to admit it or're all fluff and stuff under it all and we Love you for not being afraid to shove our [censored] into our faces and ask:
How does it smell today folks?


rock on dude
| Posted on 2009-11-06 00:00:00 | by clay | [ Reply to This ]
  We're all living a jail-cell existence of frozen-in-time moments, especially when we're alone... the earrings were vividly real, I liked that part. Sometimes I go through boxes of old scraps and broken things all evening (I don't sleep well anymore), and think about how I'm going to do this [censored] another potential 50+ years... and if I want to bother... or if I do, who is going to remember my name at the diner...

Too many things to think about before the sun rescues us from the shadows.
| Posted on 2009-07-31 00:00:00 | by grey_girl | [ Reply to This ]
  I was so obnoxiously happy to see you'd written something I hadn't yet read, but this...wasn't what I expected.
it wasn't so much "bad" as just different, a (very) little softness mixed in with the usual pseudo-apathy maybe? very much love the slow motion life reference. Sickeningly sad though, for my current mood. Being old sucks, no one respects your opinion, no one really wants you there, and even in settings where you're recognized it's like your just a prop.
don't mind me, i hate the world today;
not a bad write,
looking forward to the next.
take care Mikie :)
| Posted on 2009-07-20 00:00:00 | by silent_death12 | [ Reply to This ]
people, who live alone may only have face to face convos a couple times a day,The luckier ones ,who have kids, get taken to outings where their propped in the corner where they become ignored and bored, after the intial greeting hugs of course.
| Posted on 2009-06-23 00:00:00 | by myx dad | [ Reply to This ]
  I have no flashy words or phrases like the "people" on here do so I will just be me... It made me sad, I felt alone. The way you write, like I have always told you, makes me feel like I am right there and experiencing what the characters in your writes are. You are a brilliant writer and I loved this. You are becoming a great story teller as well. I am touched and impressed as always. =] see me for further comments on this write...
| Posted on 2009-06-22 00:00:00 | by allhunee | [ Reply to This ]
  You have a clever, discerning writing method here, together with a warmth that I admire. It interested me also in that it contains patches throughout of comfortable rhythm. I really enjoyed this read. Thanks Ted.
| Posted on 2009-06-22 00:00:00 | by edcherry | [ Reply to This ]

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