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Deja Theater
| Open Poetry #3 |
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Deja Theater |
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Don Juan de Feu Junior Member
since 1999-10-15
Posts 25 |
Deja Theater How could one know, if friend or foe at the door this time of night, persistently pounding, eerily resounding their echos compounding the fright? Donning a jacket to check the racket, easing on cold slippers as well; armed with a bat, inquiring, "Who's that?" expecting the answer to tell. "Jackson McClure, from Bon Temps Secours," the voice through the door replied. "My car's broken down, half way to town, to doctor's for fear uncle's died. If you would loan the use of your phone I'd forever remain in your debt." "Happy to help, old Aneous' whelp, your mama alive and well, yet?" The door opened wide to let him inside to a phone hung high on the wall; the doctor came first, then he rehearsed to homefolks, his reason to call. He tried to relate whose was the gate he'd entered this time of night, whose was the house he'd had to arouse to help in the midst of his plight, "First on the right, the bridge still in sight, a white frame, back off of the road." As if he'd done wrong, he was lectured long by someone, hotly dumping a load. Though Jackson confused, I was amused it too sweet to keep a straight face, that Aneous McClure once more to endure a debt to the one he'd replace. Long years before, they'd settled a score for the hand of a lovely young beauty. Aneous had won but problems had begun when Annie said no to this duty. Families insisted, so soon there existed accomodation to family not heart; she loved another, unwilling to recover from passions she'd not let depart. Thirty years later in deja theater actors on stage in some way, seemingly fate had, intentionally created a new scene for a tired old play. Time would trick us, try to depict us as if years leave love the same, but not so for Romeo, Portia or Scorpio, fini, still the end of their game. Jackson McClure, no history to endure had pondered why all this fuss, why folks held fast to things in the past, memories too painful to discuss. At this time of night, close to daylight was no time, such things to get straight, his call being through, he bid an adieu to this stranger who'd opened his gate. It meant more to me, that young man to see than I had casually let on; my heart aflutter, I began to mutter that by-gones ought to stay gone. What had been hidden, returned, unbidden, feelings so alive yesteryear, the passage of time, not abating my crime bitter still, the sting of that tear. --Don Juan de Feu . . . . Poems From the Goober Tree http://nathoo.wustl.edu/goober_tree.htm |
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| © Copyright 1999 Don Juan de Feu - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Oh, Don, what can I say, but BRAVO! Well done! A well told tale. I loved the ending very much!  ------------------ Denise |
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snow in summer Member
since 1999-08-28
Posts 67 |
Great story telling Don Juan. |
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Watcher666 Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 1606 |
Good read! Well done. ------------------ Illusion...what we see and what we do...it's all up to you. |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
I'm smilin' - I'm smilin' I love it - I love it - I love it.... Awesome - Awesome - Awesome!!! Am I getting redundant?  |
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