Wednesday, March 31, 2021

Prose Poem: The Terrible Secret in the Garage.

 



At the age of fifty-five I decided

to run away from the circus

and join a home. 

I packed enough cotton candy to last

me for a week and snuck off the lot

in the middle of night.

First I went to my son's house

in Walla Walla.

His mother was the bearded lady.

But he would not let me in.

Said I abandoned him and his mother

when times got hard back in the 90's.

I guess I can't blame him.

So I went to my daughter's house

in Oshkosh.

Her mother was head kinker.

She died during the Great Milwaukee

Circus Parade of 2009.

Run over by an elephant.

She was glad to see me

and made up a comfortable 

back bedroom for me,

with a view of apple trees

from my window.

She only made one condition:

I was to never go into the garage,

where her husband kept something

secret and terrible.

I said okay, sure, no problemo.

I was very happy playing with

the grandkids and eating oatmeal

at the same table every morning.

I never got bored watching the mailman

come by every day at 4 p.m. 

Then my daughter's husband disappeared.

He went into the garage one day and never

came out. The police searched for him

but got no clues from the garage.

When I went into the garage there was 

nothing in there but hundreds of dried

peach pits.

My daughter was so distraught

that she packed up the kids

and joined my old circus --

as a ticket taker.

She left the house to me.

I take in boarders and embroider

face masks to make ends meet.

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