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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

It Tastes Better When it isn't Yours

The fresh converts are the worst
Chasing me all around with glossy pamphlets
Stirring up the animosity and dirt

The newest diet
The holiest religion
The shiniest car
The latest addiction

From the main road out front
I heard tires upon the gravel
Slowing
Crunching
Turning perceptibly closer

I rose from my recliner
With an urgent throw of the wooden handle
Tossing me forward at an accelerated amble

Squeaking brakes
A car door's mechanical latch
Squonking of unlubricated hinges
Once going open
Once going close
Before the death rattle thunk
Of a misaligned door pin finding home

Our footsteps aligned like fate
That unseen boogey man's and mine
Him fast approaching my front door
Me decreasing the distance to the back

Two hands approach two doors
His to knock
Mine to throw the right angled finangle

Timed to the microsecond
He knocks as I open the catch
Accompanied by a faint voice
"Do you have a few moments to spare for the words of our savior Jesus Christ?"
My door swings open silently and I step outside
He knocks again as I close the door quickly

Nobody the wiser as I make my way back to my house next door
Crunching in the unraked from last fall's carpet of brown oak leaves
That I spend my afternoons while the neighbor is away
Upon the antique green rough cloth-covered lazy boy
Watching his HBO in his living room