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For Writer's Island: Curiosity
Curio Shop
By Edward Gault
On my way home late one night
I stopped to look into the window of a curio shop.
I couldn’t see much.
It was dark, except for a light in the rear
A figure entered from the back room.
At first I thought he was a staff member-
Perhaps working overtime;
But he began taking all the clocks off the back wall.
And throwing them down on the floor.
He took what looked like a baseball bat
And finished the job by smashing them to bits.
He cleared off all the shelves of the figurines
And ground them to powder with his heel.
He smashed all the cases
And pulverized all the contents
xxx-Jewelry, watches, and little picture frames
All smashed to bits.
He didn’t leave anything.
The floor was covered with debris.
He stopped to survey his work-
To make sure he hadn’t omitted a single detail.
He was close to the front of the store where I stood
xxx-just outside.
When he turned to look out, I could see his face.
It was me.
By Edward Gault
On my way home late one night
I stopped to look into the window of a curio shop.
I couldn’t see much.
It was dark, except for a light in the rear
A figure entered from the back room.
At first I thought he was a staff member-
Perhaps working overtime;
But he began taking all the clocks off the back wall.
And throwing them down on the floor.
He took what looked like a baseball bat
And finished the job by smashing them to bits.
He cleared off all the shelves of the figurines
And ground them to powder with his heel.
He smashed all the cases
And pulverized all the contents
xxx-Jewelry, watches, and little picture frames
All smashed to bits.
He didn’t leave anything.
The floor was covered with debris.
He stopped to survey his work-
To make sure he hadn’t omitted a single detail.
He was close to the front of the store where I stood
xxx-just outside.
When he turned to look out, I could see his face.
It was me.
Copyright 2008
7 comments:
Edward,
This piece is compelling holding my interest in a strong grip till the end. I like the thoughts it left me when it halt to a stop. Like dusts clearing after the chaos and discovering the truth.
Suspenseful with fine edges.
I wish you well.
~ Jeques
Oppps, I mean...
"I like the thoughts it left me when the poem rolled to a halt."
I must be sleeping while writing my comment coming from night shift.
Have a good Day!
~ Jeques
Quite a demolition job! I trust you felt guilty.I can see a deeper meaning here, or is my mind working overtime?
This is almost demonic! A hint of dark urges! Fascinating!
Thankfully, this was only a dream. But your right, I do feel guilty. This "anti-self" has done a lot of damage in my life. What this dream did for me, was to make me aware of this side of myself, this other self. I had to grapple and come to terms with it. In the dream though, I didn't actually see my face. A friend suggested that had I seen the vandal's face, it would have been my own! I played with this idea when I wrote the poem.
Oh Edward what a good story/dream! And I love the photo! Thanks for commenting on my "One Single Impression" post! :)
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