He knows she’s out there.
He keeps turning pages, turning
dials, clicking icons, seeking
even just one last glimpse;

he keeps turning over in bed
all night every night, searching.

He’s not sure she knows he’s
still hoping, still hot and
still hot on her trail, still
hung up on her last words
(whatever they were); still
just dying to see her again,
just one more time; just once.

He doesn’t have any special
strategies; doesn’t have any
plans or an agenda, doesn’t
really have any ideas about
what might transpire if he
ever meets her again,
he knows she’s out there…

Poets And Storytellers United
Weekly Scribble #69
~ Of The Hunt ~

poets and storytell

16 thoughts on “Obsessional

  1. Hot. I keep thinking of ‘fever’. Song, “We got married in a fever.” Old acquaintances are hard to find after long absences. Female or male. I’ve lost track of a lot.

  2. The mind of this sort of character–the stalker (hunter) who doesn’t see himself as such–is always a disturbing delight to read. As a reader, it leaves me feeling worried about the one being stalked and sad for sad for the stalker and his dangerous delusions. There is an almost childish tone of hope in his voice, as if he is convinced that she is enjoying the hunt as much as he is. The thought of meeting between these two always makes me shudder.

    Perfect tension, Ron..

  3. This reads as creepy – but then again it might be more innocent – it is a nice idea to keep it “open”. We’ve all “stalked” to some extent but it is the motive (and addiction?) that is telling. Nice write!

  4. Beautifully evoked and yes, a bit chilling. This reads to me as the kind of obsession many of us have experienced – until we got it out of our system – rather than the rage and planning that characterises the dangerous stalker. And yet, there are cases where the one turns into the other.

  5. You’ve captured such creepiness in this poem, Ron, it made me shudder, especially as it’s all from the stalker’s point of view and having been the object of a stalker many years ago – who was arrested. We don’t know who the woman is – she’s just prey. These lines are worrying:
    ‘still hot on her trail, still
    hung up on her last words
    (whatever they were)’.

  6. In some people’s minds, the perfect prey is better than a perfect pray. I believe the character in your poem is the former. **shiver**

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