A Prose Poem for Weeky Scribbles
I Heard a Noise
Asleep with my head under the covers
Awoke with a start Airplane taking off
Sounding way too close Why did it come here
Questions arise Why was that plane so close
Was our between buildings long enough
Why did its sound evaporate so fast
Then I must have gone back to sleep it was still dark outside. The plane episode had to have been a dream, those things could not have happened here.
Coffee and granola bar in hand, Butler was ready for his brief morning walk and out we went. Sniffed the bushes and found three just right, then he ran over to the complex "mess pit".
On our way back, he was in his usual hurry to eat, we walked fast. With key in the lock, I hesitated. Things didn't look right. Then I saw, my motorcycle was gone. Only my chain and pieces of lock remained.
Who would do such a thing, to steal my bike
What kind of person, does a thing like that
Would my bike soon be, thousands of pieces
It seemed like ages, Butler and I waited. In actuality five or ten minutes was fast for police. But this was Houston, low crime sanctuary city. Live and let, don't ask, they won't tell. Working families and singles wanting better and safer life. They tend our lawns, clean our homes, and pound the nails to build for us.
Where do they go when they get caught
Would the children have to leave school
Can they drive their cars through the gate
I didn't dwell on those folk long, the police looked at my ownership papers, which I had a hard time finding. Then they smiled, one softly said, your bike has been found.
It was speeding along the access road to the Gulf Freeway and our cruiser took chase. The rider found a gate and was speeding through a small field. But he hit a stump and flipped.
He, a young man, got away, ran through the field and hid or was picked up. Your bike is almost okay, a muffler broke off and a crash bar is bent. Muddy and noisy but it runs and rides well. Come down and get it.
What will happen to that young man
Has he started a life of crime
Had he come from another land
The motorcycle and I led a charmed life. It took to the parks filled with song, waited patiently while I sang along, joined the Hippie crowd on weekend nights, parked themselves with feet dangling on the loading docks or standing around in the Armond Bayou Landing park. We cruised ourselves slowly by the skating and scooting hordes up and down the downtown streets.
That bike has ridden through East Texas and West Louisianna, with me and friends, family, or date. It blended good with the bike clubs, San Jacinto High Rollers were favorites.
It helped me court, helped teaching my new-to-be wife, naive and simple she was, what to do when I hollered back, "Hang on!!" Then it got parked for twenty years after my fifth and last was born. Since it had flooded I sold it for junk with a promise to restore. Butler has died but he loved being a part of our new family until his death.
What has happened to that young man
Is he living a life of crime
Or did he rehabilitate
I do not know, not many know all the parts I've told here. I hope for his best, he is the part of this tale that will never be written.
_ _ _ _
- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved
- I am linked with Sanaa Rizvi at Weekly Scribbles, https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2020/03/weekly-scribblings-11-hypophora-and-all-that.html?m=1
Labels: Jim's Life, Poem, Poem forms, prose poem, Story, Story Poem
posted by Jim @ 3/18/2020 11:30:00 AM
10 comments
10 Comments:
This is a Prose Poem, part prose and part poem. Were it "prose" our limit is 369 words, poems can be longer.
This is a true account, mostly. My bike was a Honda CB-450, a street bike that travels highway speed. I did not have a dog at the time but after we married we adopted Adi, a marvelous Beagle. We became a registered Pet Therapy Team.
We were to write in "Hypophora" form which is part questions and part an attempt to answer. Better if some questions were hypothetical with NO answer.
I hope you like it, at least a little bit. And a little bit of my interesting, yet mundane life.
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This is such a poignant prose poem, Jim!💝 I particularly relate to "Why was that plane so close/Was our between buildings long enough/Why did its sound evaporate so fast. Thank you so much for writing to the prompt!💝
The question as to the thief's future is interesting and leaves the reader many options for an answer
Happy Wednesday
Much❤love
Very interesting questions to which you'll never know the answers. And a most entertainingly-written tale.
Great writing Jim. One wonders what sort of childhood the young man had to undertake such an act. Were either of his parents like that encouraging him to disrespect other peoples property and risk being caught by the police? Deep down you know that the offender will never improve and only consider himself unlucky to have got caught this time.
Everything about your story is intriguing ......
Answers you'll never know, but it has given you a story. Perhaps you can create one for how the young man's life turned out.
So many questions! And sometimes so few answers...
Did you lose control of your FB page and then ask me to friend you on another page? Or did that request come from an impostor? Please let me know because it felt like an impostor, but I'm not sure.
This is well done, Jim. Good questions and answers. Some answers you will never be privy to, but it’s good to think about the maybes.
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