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Open Poetry #45
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Not This Time
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Not This Time |
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Yoinn Senior Member
since 2007-08-16
Posts 649Michigan 
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Not This Time George sits in his wicker chair. He wears suspenders and has a knife that he whittles with. His lawn is perfect. He has a solid oak cane that he shakes at those rotten kids if they step on his lawn, They should show more respect for a veteran of WWII. Next door lives a single mom, A tramp no doubt, coming and Going all times of the night. Those rotten kids or hers, always messing with stuff. He watches one of the little buggers now, Coming out his doorway. “That little Timmy again, probably That tramp has him out for a walk” As he watches, he notices that the boy is alone and heading for the street. George grabs his cane and heads down the steps. “Hey you little runt get away from there” George hears the dump truck before he sees it. He knows its Ronnie Taskel from the quarry, moving stones. The cab of the big truck a full 8ft off the ground and Ronnie is putting the pedal down hard. George flashes back. Just outside a village in the Philippines, They were pinned down, mortar fire everywhere, they kept fighting but were slowing giving ground. He saw his buddy, Joe Bokel was hit And not moving. George began to sprint for Joe, to pull him out of mortar range, but one found him before he could save him. Joe was gone. “Not this time” George growled to himself. He willed his aged body into a sprint. It wasn’t a young man but a 78 year old grumpy old coot that was hobbling across the slick grass. Joyce before she died always warned him to be careful with his bad knees. Shrapnel had done some serious damage to them before had made it home to her. He was buffeted by the hot Arizona air When the big truck roared past George. Little Timmy was almost past the sidewalk And heading for the curb, showing no Signs of slowing down. He wasn’t gonna make it. It was still a good 25 yards to the boy Then in an instant George made his decision. Time slowed down. George, watching Timmy, now only a few feet from the road, swung his solid oak cane around his head in one full circle and then let it fly. As George felt the tendons in his arm rip away from the bone, he looked up at the sky and screamed “NOT THIS TIME”. He screamed for Joe who was blown up just feet from him, he screamed for his wife Joyce who was taken by the cancer while George sat and held her hand day after day, helpless, and he screamed for this small boy Timmy who would blow snot bubbles out his nose while standing watching George working in his lawn. It was the15th of June and hotter than a firecracker In a small town in Arizona, when A mother ran to her small son, and scooped him up in her arms. He had been laying by the road screaming with a nasty bump on his head and a solid oak cane laying next to him. Yoin This is a piece I am working on expanding into a short story. I will add some background of the neighbor lady (Timmy's mom), more on George and Joyce's life, and also give Timmy a voice in the story. I thought I would post this piece here and the finished story in Prose forum when it's finished. Thanks |
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| © Copyright 2009 Tim W. - All Rights Reserved | |||
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GBride Senior Member
since 2009-07-02
Posts 538 |
A very nice emotional write. Have you ever seen something bad about to happen and you couldn't prevent it? That is where this poem takes me. It is a stormy night in Nebraska and I cannot sleep. I am glad for the lightening and thunder. I probably would not have seen this poem otherwise. |
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Yoinn Senior Member
since 2007-08-16
Posts 649Michigan |
Thanks GB, for the reply. Yoin |
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