Fourish

Here’s one from the Works-in-Progress File, revised yet again and ready (I think) to be moved to the Almost-There File…

charlie

Fourish

He wakes up briefly twice and 
both times he’s someone else.

First he’s top-hatted Charlie McCarthy,
the bow-tied and monocled loudmouth,
speedy comebacker to Edgar Bergan’s
rational and baritoned straight lines,
clearly begging for a well-deserved
but always undelivered face slap.

Later, though, he’s older than Edgar
ever thought of being; older than
The Sun King’s scepter, older than
The Sun King or The Sun King’s father;
older, even, than the sun itself, which
does not shine at 4 AM, will not shine
no matter how long he waits in bed.

He goes back to sleep. It’s not quite
four o’clock yet, but suddenly he’s…

—————[|||]—————
Poets And Storytellers United
Writers Pantry #58 
———[||]———

poets and storytell

10 thoughts on “Fourish

  1. Great poem Love it ! My favourite line
    “older, even, than the sun itself, which
    does not shine at 4 AM, will not shine
    no matter how long he waits in bed”

  2. Oh goodness, Ron, that’s too close to home for me! I can fall asleep, but I can’t stay asleep, I drop off and wake up again, and by fourish my body wants to get up, but my brain says no. The dreams in those short periods of sleep are so vivid!

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