THE STRANGER

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THE STRANGER

Out of the cold, rainy, winter’s night-

He came.

He stopped, suddenly, at the edge of the light

            from a single, naked bulb.

What would ‘they’ do?

 

He was big.

From his hang–dog appearance, his hair looked stringy, matted, and dirty; perhaps for eons of time.

His head lifted at the smell of beer, whiskey, and peanuts.

The legs began to tremble; weak, tired, almost exhausted legs.

 

Nervous laughter quickly faded.

A hush fell over the noisy group.

Some were puzzled others confused.

They were alone, secluded, far from town.

Frightened: they stared.

“What does he want?” was spoken almost sötte voce.

 

From back of the room someone sarcastically barked,

“Give him some Kibbles and Bits!”

 

At the familiar words, hope caused the long, thin,

hung–down tail to wag.

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Celly319 commented on THE STRANGER

10-12-2009

Well, I wasn't expecting that. lol. Nicely done, kept me wondering till the end.

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

willy242’s Poems (3)

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Title Comments
THE STRANGER 1
CREATION'S SONG 0
MY FIELD OF FLOWERS 0