This is a poem I wrote back in November of 2012 – the year I moved to Melbourne, Australia by myself to start university after living in Hong Kong for 2.5 years. This particular poem illustrates my curiosity about a man that lived in the share house I was living in (there were 7 of us altogether) – a man none of us had ever met and only ever saw a mere glimpse of in passing in the hallway once or twice.
He’s a faceless man, got a name and an address
His friends are issuing search warrants,
While his mamma drops in just to check
In a house of seven,
It’s more like six
He’s a faceless, silent, no-body man
Squandering a life, who knows what
Could have been…
He’s faceless, I think, who knows, who can tell
Can’t have bathed for a decade, lives on dust mites and coal
No sign of a life, still the bills… get paid
Who is he, no one knows, not even his mamma,
They don’t know,
Have the termites got him,
Does he know he exists?
He’s a faceless stranger, strange, strange, man
A faceless man, doesn’t move doesn’t sing
No hustling or creaking
Unanswered phone calls. Beeping.
Does he sit in an office, does he box toy guns,
Does he know of his existence, say, does he know he exists?
Does he sleep beneath rubbish and filth, no. That’s obscene
A solipsist’s nightmare, a psychologist’s dream
Does he know Freddy Krueger, or Johnny, or Bill.
Does he fill out a suit…
Does he live in a dream;
Do we live in a dream?