Fleishman

The trains weren’t running today.
There was something in the tunnels.
The ‘meat man’ has now moved.
They call him Fleishmann
Like the model of the train.
Apparently, he wears peoples’ skin.

Still, passer-bys ignore him
Whilst he punctures his flesh with a pin.
“The longer I wear it the more it grows on me;
She has such pretty skin.”

Insult after insult is thrown
But still, he bares his uncanny grin,
Stitching his flapping skin together
In a desperate attempt to fit in.

I actually spoke to him earlier.
Apparently, he’s a former priest.
“Oh Father up above help me please
Oh Father up above help me please.”

Through rain, sleet and snow he sings
Pulling the skin around him like a cloak.
He’s void of most emotions
Accept ravenous hunger.
He’s tried on so many different skins.
He’s never actually hurt me.
I get strange looks when I approach him;
I’m only trying to be friendly.
Lonely, desolate and desperate
An outcast from society.

words
Molly Parker
photography
Katherine Eggleston

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