Counting to Ten
tries to sleep
hoping not to wake
before bars close and
footsteps find the hall
stale booze and cigarettes
paint the wall like
hushed mouth secrets
taken to family graves
doors squeak shut
she counts to ten
knick- knack- paddy- whack
says her ABCs
over and over
clutching her doll
like lost children playing
in someone else’s
nightmare
March 26, 2008 at 12:59 pm
Scot,
Wow is all I can say. The ending line is a killer.
Nochipa
March 26, 2008 at 1:34 pm
This made me shudder, which isn’t a bad thing. Very powerful, hard-hitting.
March 26, 2008 at 6:12 pm
Sure. Just creep me out before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee. Thanks, Scot.
March 26, 2008 at 9:49 pm
The power of implication. Simple like a childs eye view and threatening with just a touch of sound.
March 26, 2008 at 10:12 pm
Thanks Nochipa–loved your new poem
March 26, 2008 at 10:14 pm
Jo
something different–something needed to be said
March 26, 2008 at 10:15 pm
Rodger
not what anyone needs before coffee
March 26, 2008 at 10:15 pm
thanks paul–may be the sound of silence
March 27, 2008 at 8:07 am
Gosh, that was powerful, and it was really disturbing, you have a real gift for making my hair stand on end.
March 27, 2008 at 9:59 am
i like that squeak of the door, its got a spooky resonance that fits the poem,
March 27, 2008 at 10:22 am
Thanks Enigma for stopping in
Paul–thanks for the second read!
March 27, 2008 at 12:50 pm
Wow! You got it–the sounds, the blank fear filled with abc’s, the electrical bolt. Excellent poem.
March 27, 2008 at 8:34 pm
Thanks Jo–not an easy subject to write about either
March 28, 2008 at 3:18 am
This touches me deeply. Thank you for writing this. It’s very, very good.