The Closed Door

Rudyard Fearon

He burst in the room —
not looking at us.
Feet shuffled.
I hurried over to him —
fake smile in place.
"How's life treating you, Jack?"
The music stopped.
Feet shuffled out.
"She's not here, Jack!"
I edged between him
and the closed door.
"Honest...she's not."
Silence.

The closed door.

Poem 1 | Poem 2 | Poem 3 | Poem 4 | Poem 5 | Poem 6 | Poem 7 | Poem 8 | Poem 9 | Poem 10 | Poem 11

Rudyard Fearon's works copyright © to the author.