Tomorrow’s Tale [new poem]

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I’ve taken off my useless coat and placed it on the frozen earth
in readiness for duelling with my stuttering future fate which,
as you might expect, was punctually late apparently because
a dalliance with some fair beguiling sweetly-smiling maids
plus all the after-bathes had stopped him in his grisly tracks
(at least that’s how the gossip-mongers falsified the facts).

The early morning air was cold as frost clung to the trees
My dark opponent’s cold unpresence in the forest clearing
nowly waiting building up the tension to impress the crowd.
I saw my breath unfreeze in dense and steamy dreamful clouds
around my face just as a voice said “Choose your weapons”
with a grin, while watchers saw my cuffs made up of finest lace.

With some panache I picked my arm of choice — my pen —
which furiously was writing out some lines I made in school
a lettered mess in blood and tears: “I must not keep the rules”
once more again and overmore again, upon which then
my quarry turned up in his camel overcoat and true to
pompous form he cleared his throat as if about to bring
some gem before the crowd. “Tomorrow, at your service”
was the only wordly message he could ultimately say.
I quickly seized my trusty pen and wrote in uppercase:
The shadowed figure melted to an undefineful mist.
which gives this little chronicle an unexpected twist.

© 2012, Alan Morrison

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