Wednesday, March 18, 2020

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

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10 Comments:

At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 11:56:00 AM, Blogger Jim said...

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.
..

 
At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 1:47:00 PM, Blogger Sanaa Rizvi said...

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!💝

 
At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 2:15:00 PM, Blogger Gillena Cox said...

The question as to the thief's future is interesting and leaves the reader many options for an answer

Happy Wednesday

Much❤love

 
At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 4:38:00 PM, Blogger Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Very interesting questions to which you'll never know the answers. And a most entertainingly-written tale.

 
At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 5:32:00 PM, Blogger Old Egg said...

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.

 
At Wednesday, March 18, 2020 6:20:00 PM, Blogger Helen said...

Everything about your story is intriguing ......

 
At Friday, March 20, 2020 2:55:00 PM, Blogger Susie Clevenger said...

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.

 
At Saturday, March 21, 2020 9:33:00 AM, Blogger Magical Mystical Teacher said...

So many questions! And sometimes so few answers...

 
At Saturday, March 21, 2020 11:03:00 PM, Blogger Madeleine Begun Kane said...

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.

 
At Sunday, March 22, 2020 1:27:00 PM, Blogger purplepeninportland.com said...

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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