The Matrix

The Weight of My Wants

A homeless stranger erodes my happy little working-class rut

I thought I aced this self-portrait until my brother pointed out that it falls short for want of a mid-century smoker’s table and a glass of red. Missed Opportunity by the author.

some stranger has arrived in town,
a sorcerer from Lydia, a conjurer of sorts

“I’ve cracked the Matrix,” the Stranger said with his palms upturned in supplication, “shh, don’t tell anyone.” He was flaunting a fringed, deep purple serape that a kindly passerby had bought for him. “Ask for nothing. Receive everything!” He whirled about like a dervish in the supermarket parking lot and the fabric billowed into the shape of a poisonous belladonna. “There is no need in a privileged society, Margaret, there are only wants.”

I’ve heard that spiel countless times in the past few weeks. He speaks five languages, he wanted me to know when he arrived. His lanky, half-grown mongrel cavorted on the lead, unable to manage its gangling legs. “This is Corazón. It’s Spanish for love. I used to be alone but I met her and now we are married. She adds to me. Always add, never subtract.” That’s another refrain, a compulsive addendum to his sentences.

The Stranger and his dog-wife drift from town to town. He fancies himself as a roving guru. People call him homeless, but that’s reductive. He never subtracts. He belongs to the world, a global citizen, he said, before he pointed to my shackles and described…