It was a hot August day at The Far Bar, in Baton Rouge. I was stocking beer before the lunch rush started when I saw her for the first time. She was being interviewed by Arty, the owner of the bar, for a bartending job. She had been watching(more) me while I worked and when I caught her eye, she nodded to me knowingly as if we had been involved in some great mischief together. I had to investigate the woman behind that look, so I walked over to the table where she and Arty were at.
As I approached, Arty was gesturing wildly telling one of his ridiculously fabricated FBI tales that he always swore were true. No one ever believed him though.
"Shad! Hey buddy!" He hugged my torso from where he sat, clearly already drunk at 1015 a.m.
"Shad, this is Brooke, our new bartender. Brooke, this is Shad, our underage, stoner barback boy."
I smirked at Arty and held out my hand to her for a polite handshake, but Brooke grabbed my hand and brought it up to her moist, busty, lips for a kiss.
"Charmed, I'm sure", she said, smiling playfully.
I paused for my reply. Arty's snickering broke the silence, and I found my voice.
"Come now, my lady, you're making me blush." was all I could come up with. But it was good enough. Brooke chuckled softly at me, like a bird skipping it's claws along the river.
Our first words to each other ended quickly. She and Arty continued their conversation, but secretly, Brooke and I had just gotten started. Before she left, she nodded goodbye to me across the bar with her green knowing eyes, wise and wild, answering my silent question to her, with a wink.(less)
Ok, so I don't know if this is cheating but I wrote this poem a long time ago and it fits perfectly with the trigger. I wrote it during a brief but passionate fling I had with structured, rhyming poems. *gasp!* Yes, I am sorry. But of all of(more) my corny rhyming poems, this one is by far the best.
Oath of Silence
The first words are the hardest
No matter how sincere or earnest
You could call me a coward
For silence I have favored
With God as my witness
My body collects dust
While my wits begin to rust
My heart’s securely armored.
The first words are the hardest
Some may wonder how an artist
Could be so numb with that much practice?
But I am too rational to let myself be hindered
By a heart that has been shattered
So I give up! It is hopeless
When the first words are the hardest
Where my nails had sliced the air, a void opened. Rumbling whispers rushed out of it, filling the silence left by the stilled thunder. After a moment, this whispers stopped, leaving a quiet as absolute as the vacuum of space. The pressure (more)of that emptiness threatened to crush my skull. Then, the sky unzipped.
From the flayed wound of the sky, a man stepped forward, huge, hundreds of feet tall. He was clothed in gossamer rags, riveted directly to his skin by silver bolts at shoulds and waist. On his back, cradled by his cruelly twisted arms, he carried a world of screaming souls, each engulfed by flames.
Asmodeus and Disease scrambled out of the way of his giant feet, pressing themselves close to me, but not daring to touch me. I felt fear in the gaze that Asmodeus turned on me, though I didn't see it. My eyes were on Atlas, and my face felt strangely stretched, to the point of ripping.
Atlas inclined his head toward me, small on the ground, and said in a voice like stone breaking, said "More are coming."
And more came. Falling and flying and stumbling and shrieking out of the gap between worlds, characters I'd met in my dark wonderland, and the lands of other small gods. Waves and waves of them descended, falling hard into the soft sand, but regaining their feet or claws or hooves in moments, and rushing away with wild cries to fall upon Disease's fleeing children.
Two creatures descended together, with a preternatural grace that set them gently on their feet in front of me. Their fingers were entwinged as they alighted, but they sprang apart immediately. A man and a woman, youthful but with old eyes, they both spoke at once.