I Can Not Write Poetry - Andy Scorah (each kindness read aloud txt) 📗

the sun was sinking low on the horizon and tonight he fancied sleeping in luxury without the dessert floor as his bed. He gunned the bike harder and the buildings drew near. He passed a bullet-riddled sign that said you are entering the town of Bardo, have a Hell of a day and a Heavenly stay.

He entered the town and pulled up outside a roadhouse called Ernie’s Hoedown, a low one story building in the pueblo style. Two old timers eyed him with the eyes of stranger fear. He climbed off the Hog and took off his goggles. Hanging them from the handlebars he swept back his long hair and used an elastic band to tie it into a pony tail aka Reno Raines. Dusting down his black jeans, he nodded at the two olds before stepping into the cool of the bar.

He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Steve Earl was singing about Guitar Town on the battered jukebox, he scanned the room and took in the two pretty blondes at the pool table, bottles of Coors light perched at the edge of the table. Two more olds were sat playing cards at a table near the bar, their poison of choice Rheingold extra dry. The bar tender a solid bulk of a man was sat at the bar reading a newspaper and smoking a rolled cigarette. He looked up at Blackies approach.

“Hi there what can I get ya?” he said in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

“Whiskey straight, whateva ya got” Blackie sat himself at one of the four bar stools.

The bar keep got up and went behind the bar and poured him a good shot of Woodford Reserve, Blackie handed him the money and drank half of the drink at once, relishing the feel of the alcohol filling his system.

“Just passing through?” the bar keep asked as he passed him his change.

“Wondered if there was any place to stay in town for the night?”

“Maries place at the far end of town, it’s cheap and comfortable” he used a cloth to wipe down the bar in front of Blackie.

“We don’t get many visitors this time of year so ya’ll have the place to yourself,” he offered.

Blackie finished his drink and thanked the bar keep before walking back outside, the olds had gone. He looked up Main Street, which was deserted, not even any cars parked. The whole place had the feel of a ghost town, a town dying on its feet, but he did not care so long as he got a bed for the night.

He climbed onto his Harley and gunned the engine before slowly cruising up Main Street, he passed a store that was closed for the day and what appeared to be a sheriff’s office, and these were interspersed between private homes, a medical centre that was boarded up, and a school also boarded up. He found Maries place on the left at the far end and separate from the other buildings and the only two-storied building in Bardo.

A women of about fifty years was brushing down the porch when he pulled up in front, she looked up at the sound of Blackies bike.

“Now then yer a fine lookin fella” she said as he climbed the three steps to the porch.

“Guy at the roadhouse said ya might have a room for the night?”

“Sure fella, come on in”

She led him into a hallway, pleasantly lit by a lamp on an occasional table by the stairs and a smell of disinfectant permeated the air with a minty freshness.

“I’m not really a hotel just rent ma rooms out to people who want a bed, keeps me in the good lords graces bein a good Samaritan n all” she led him into a comfortably furnished room without any signs of 2010, no plasma TV or stereos, just comfortable seating and a piano in the corner.

Blackie sat down and she asked him if he wanted a drink or anything. He replied coffee would be fine. She disappeared into the back of the house and he settled into an armchair, the weariness he had not realised he felt slowly ebbing from his bones.

She returned shortly with two coffees and a plateful of biscuits and settled in a chair across from him.

“Oh my where are my manners” she took a sip of coffee-“My names Marie Gabriel”

“Wayne Blake, but my friends call me Blackie” he answered-“So what’s this town’s story?”

“Bardo? It’s just a place to go through to help you decide your destination”

Blackie frowned at her answer.

She threw her head back and laughed, a rich sound that filled the room.

“Don’t fuss yerself none Wayne, whatever you’re looking for the answer is here”

She’s a crackpot!

“I only wanna lay my head for a while, thass all”

“And so you shall, best beds in town I have”

Blackie finished his coffee and she showed him to his room. He was glad when she left him on his own. The room was like the rest of the house, comfortable with a king-size bed and a deep mattress that he sank into. Within seconds, he was asleep, just like the cowboys of old with his boots still on.

He awoke next morning with the sun shining through the still open curtains. His mouth felt like day old road kill and probably smelt like it too. Blackie listened but the house was silent and felt empty. He went downstairs but could find no sign of Marie so he went outside. His bike was still parked where he left it. Going back inside, he left a few dollars on the table, called Maries name but received no answer. Shrugging he returned to his bike and gunned the engine. A sound made him look up, a smartly dressed couple seeming incongruous to their surroundings, were standing at the top of the stairs, they seemed familiar somehow. They smiled and waved. He looked behind but no one was there, when he looked back the couple had gone. Was he going mad, seeing things now. He knew of Vets that suffered from the horrors of war but he was not one of them. He must still be exhausted from his travels, and he was hungry, time to go get food. That is what it was. He drove back into town to Ernie’s, but it is closed and still no sign of anyone anywhere. Ok time to hit the road, hopefully he would find a town a little further down the highway that was not as strange as this one. He backed out onto Main street and with a scream of Harley audio poetry, blitzed down main street, the buildings passing in a blur of stucco visuals, at the town line a huge dust cloud swept across his vision and he slowed down less he became road kill of the day. When the cloud passed, he was amazed to see he was passing Bardo’s pockmarked sign, Hell of a day. What the fuck!

He pulled up outside Ernie’s, the door was open now, and the barkeep stood there smiling next to the couple he had seen at Maries. They waved and disappeared inside. He got off his bike in the middle of Main Street and headed towards the door. Just before he entered, he smelt a coppery smell and for an instant a deep pain ran through his chest, Blackie fell to his knees. The pain passed and he entered the building. No one else was inside except the barkeep who was potting balls at the pool table.

“Glad you could join us son,” he said.

“What’s goin on?” he asked, confusion in his voice and painted over his face like a mimes' mask.

“You been judged and the door chosen, you could have left but you paid” he pointed to the toilets with his pool cue; “Your parents are waiting for you” he faded away to nothing.

Blackies mind whirled but he felt no fear, a whispering voice said, time to rest son your fight is over, what was given so is taken away.

A brief vision passed before his eyes, bullets flying as his comrades dived out of the Humvee, as he went to exit he felt a dull thump to his chest a brief blackness and he was back in Ernie’s, the door to the male toilets opened and his father stepped out.

“Time to go home son, you’ve earned your place”

With a single tear rolling down his cheek and without a backward glance, he joined his parents in heaven. Amen.


Imprint

Text: Andy Scorah
Images: Andy Scorah
Editing: Andy Scorah
Translation: Andy Scorah
Publication Date: 02-12-2012

All Rights Reserved