the mystery

she pushed back auburn hair as rain pelted a
split windshield,

wipers gasped out of breath, a breeze invited
itself in

through a rolled down window, long fingers with
painted nails

played with the radio like a piano player does
with ivories

in a smoked filled joint at 2:00 a.m. on a wet
Saturday night,

found a station with an, “be on the lookout
for a… ”

her ’39 Ford coupe with painted black and
whites tires

slipped on cheap asphalt and a promise, she
headed home;

skidded into a picket fence and her neighbor’s
binoculars, his

nagging wife was listening to a statické show
on tubes,

she fumbled for her house keys, standing there
dripping cold,

went in, double bolted wood and brass, click,
no lights,

a candle lit flickering from a nervous hand
and darkness,

went upstairs, slowly, every sound made her
heart skip

a beat, tightened grip on a banister and varnish,
each step

got heavier and heavier; into her bedroom to
get out

of damp clothes and tired eyes, then, a noise
from downstairs,

creaking, creaking on aging boards and nails,
lightning silhouette

of a creeper with a clammy complexion and a
jailed past;

knob clicking, clicking, not turning to his high
or amusement,

she sits in her bed, naked, holding a sheet
up to

her face, could feel his presence as he kicked
the door

in; red police lights on squad cars, yellow
bulbs in

rusted flashlights, searching, searching,
no footprints,

no fingerprints, no sign of malice, or smell
of a

criminal’s breath, vanished into air so thin
and dirty,

the neighbor kept silent…

Copyright © 07/22/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®


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