Saturday, November 15, 2008
Roadie Poet: Stranger
Got home just now.
The start of a month off the road.
I need sleep
Clean clothes
Good food.
In that order.
My key fits in the lock.
Everything inside looks the same:
Shelf for mail
The dent in the bannister from when I kicked it with a steel-toed boot.
Don't ask.
In the living room
In front of the TV
In the recliner I bought Mom with my first tour's pay
Isn't Mom.
It's some guy.
In blue plaid flannel pants.
Black socks.
Brown slippers with no backs.
Not a lot of hair.
Glasses.
I look into the kitchen.
There's Mom's cookbooks
Mom's pots
Mom's teapot.
No Mom.
Just this guy.
"Hey," he says to me.
"You must be RP."
"Who're you?" I say to him.
"Does Mom know you're here?"
He laughs.
Stands up.
Shoves his hand at me.
I stare at it.
Mom shows up then.
Dressed in a flimsy robe.
Surprised to see me.
Her second kid.
Like I'm forgettable.
She gives me food.
Takes my laundry.
Sends me to bed.
In that order.
I don't complain.
I needed all three.
Especially sleep.
I'm awake.
Never thought I'd need earplugs at home.
Maybe
I can find
A tour
That'll keep me busy
For a month.
I don't really need
Sleep
Food
Or clothes.
In any order.
Aww, man! Poor RP; his mom's got a boyfriend! There's more to this saga, so stay tuned. In the meantime, why not check out other friends who've done some Sunday Scribblings?
The start of a month off the road.
I need sleep
Clean clothes
Good food.
In that order.
My key fits in the lock.
Everything inside looks the same:
Shelf for mail
The dent in the bannister from when I kicked it with a steel-toed boot.
Don't ask.
In the living room
In front of the TV
In the recliner I bought Mom with my first tour's pay
Isn't Mom.
It's some guy.
In blue plaid flannel pants.
Black socks.
Brown slippers with no backs.
Not a lot of hair.
Glasses.
I look into the kitchen.
There's Mom's cookbooks
Mom's pots
Mom's teapot.
No Mom.
Just this guy.
"Hey," he says to me.
"You must be RP."
"Who're you?" I say to him.
"Does Mom know you're here?"
He laughs.
Stands up.
Shoves his hand at me.
I stare at it.
Mom shows up then.
Dressed in a flimsy robe.
Surprised to see me.
Her second kid.
Like I'm forgettable.
She gives me food.
Takes my laundry.
Sends me to bed.
In that order.
I don't complain.
I needed all three.
Especially sleep.
I'm awake.
Never thought I'd need earplugs at home.
Maybe
I can find
A tour
That'll keep me busy
For a month.
I don't really need
Sleep
Food
Or clothes.
In any order.
Aww, man! Poor RP; his mom's got a boyfriend! There's more to this saga, so stay tuned. In the meantime, why not check out other friends who've done some Sunday Scribblings?
Labels: poem, Roadie Poet, Sunday Scribblings
Comments:
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Sad but true, your prose-poem captures a very realistic situation. Not that there's anything wrong with RP's mom getting a boyfriend, but it's sad that RP loses his postion as "welcome son" for his new position as "guest."
Poor guy. Finding out a stranger has taken up residence in your home and in your life is bad enough, but to have to *hear* them too, well that's excruciating.
I loved it. Especially how Mom gave RP everything he wanted. . . in exactly the order he did not want it:
"She gives me food.
Takes my laundry.
Sends me to bed.
In that order."
"She gives me food.
Takes my laundry.
Sends me to bed.
In that order."
Aw, poor RP, nothing worse than looking forward to something familiar and getting a weird surprise! lol! *hugs to RP* even if it is good for Mom!
I tried hard to find the significance of the "order", and the repeated use of the line "in that order", I am sure I must be missing something really good
Don't you just hate strangers? I don't know which of your characters was the most embarrassed - you handled the writing of this well!
The return of Roadie Poet! I missed you.
I do think it's funny that RP has been used to dropping in and out of his mom's life, not expecting her to do any living while he's gone. I agree with Anthony North!
I do think it's funny that RP has been used to dropping in and out of his mom's life, not expecting her to do any living while he's gone. I agree with Anthony North!
It's been a spooky little thing at the back of my mind all my life....that I'll walk into a familiar room and see a stranger sitting waiting.
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