I felt Archie shadowing me, an inferno of twitching, His galvanizing tail slapping me towards the recessional door. I grabbed his leash and we planned our Pierian walking Beyond the threshold I couldn't pierce the bleak midwinter morning And the stuffy looks from tedious neighbours. I know they're pointing. I can hear their gaseous gossip. I smell their boiling stigma. I shut the door and Archie recedes again. The phone is ringing. The screen says it's Cindy. She'll want a Costa and a gossip and a bit of sunshine. She'll want the drive-though obviously, her choicest of landings And want me take my light coat, so she can go shopping. She'll want me to grab hold of the handle, but I can't depress it. I know what she'll say about me. I know what she's saying right now. I turn the lock humdrum key and shut out the sentencing world again. The sun is out. It's perverted glare is peeping through the window. Thank goodness for the black out blind. It makes me think of Madonna. I jump into the shower and pick up the beat in sync with the water. Like a Virgin... Eternally a virgin. Eternally a spinster, and dried up Withering old cow. Cheerless and foolish. Closed in and content inside. Inside I'm wretched, bleak, dour, broken. My grim down-turned face All too familiar in the mirror. I'll retreat back to bed and safety, again.
Edgar Allan Poe, American author and poet, was born today in 1809.
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