 |
| He studdied it, looked long and hard, the waitress came right back. set the eggs and biscuits down. Refilled his coffee cup, the one with the crack When he had eaten breakfast, he paid out with a smile. Went out to his pickup truck, cranked it up, and moved it out. Then drove a little while. He saw a letter on the seat, pulled over to the curb. Opened it, and read outloud, hubbies home, will see you later. PLEASE do not disturb. He sat real quiet, and thought a moment, got out and took a walk. Thought, and said, things I do for a woman. He then lit up a cigarette, and sat down on a stump. He wondered what he'd say to her, this first time they would meet. In his throat he felt a lump. They'd know each other many years, but still had never met. He'd talked to her, for days on end. All on the internet. They never dreamed it'd go this far, this monkey on his back But he didn't want to shake it loose. She would slip away, in dark of night, leave the door open a crack. He thought of all the countless nights, mornings, week ends too. They'd spend in each others arms, the hugs and kisses, making love. But what were they to do? He thought a bit and turned around, back to the truck he strode. Filled it up with with oil and gas, never looking back, and hit the dusty road. The Masked Writer; <o.o> <o.-> <o.o> |
| He Came to Town They say he came to town one day. We do not know where from. We only know, a tall dark man he was. Was kind, polite, a gentleman. His origin not known. Dressed in a whiskey colored hat, a vest and tight blue jeans. Boots of finest leather were, pulled a pack of cigarettes, and on a pole he leaned. His gaze focused here and there, as if looking for someone. Mustache trimed, hair was neat. Sideburns down his cheek. Was chewing on some gum. He pulled a paper from his vest Studied it intensely. It looked like a photgraph, a picture, or more maybe, and to it taped a key. Now who this stranger was we asked, a question in our mind. He folded paper and tucked away, in the pocket from where it came. Who was he here to find? He dropped the smoke down on the ground, ground it with his heel. Straightened up his Stetson hat, and vest, suitcase in hand. Looked round to find a meal. He spotted a small diner a few blocks down the street. He set off a walking, long strides he would take. Tipping hat at ladies he'd meet. He found a booth and settled in. A waitress did approach. Set water, napkin, and silverware, asked what he'd like to eat. Said ma'm, just eggs, and like em poached. He looked around, all eyes on him, small town with curious folks. The waitress set his coffee down, it was black just like he liked. Coffee cup cracked and broke. The coffee good, was hot and strong. not a word about the cup. He pulled the paper out again, tipped his hat back, and took a look. CONTINUED |
| Continued |
|
 |
|