deepundergroundpoetry.com

THE VISITOR

[i]A Repost[i]

Business is slow
Don and I sit around the sales desk
the silence only punctuated
by the muted whirring of ceiling fans
and our profound conversation on life

We hear the backdoor to the warehouse open
then slam shut
footsteps clad in dress-shoes
resonate striking the concrete floor
only the store owner, Stan, would enter through the back door
without first knocking or ringing the bell

We watch curiously the showroom doors
I rise and pretend to be busy dusting light fixtures
eyes rolling, Don grins at my feigned industry
the doors open slowly
revealing our mysterious visitor

Before us, filling completely the door frame
stands a tall, imposing stranger
wearing a tan herringbone suit,
white shirt with red necktie

He has a full head of well coiffed red hair
a pale face spattered with freckles
his eyes are gray and without expression
with lips formed in a slight, menacing smile

With trepidation I approach to greet him
I extend my right hand while saying
�is there something I can do for you?�
saying nothing he grips my hand
with his squeezing bear paw-like mit

I am helpless to escape
my hand trapped in his vise
wincing I cry out in pain
I grow cold paralyzed by fear
Struggling to speak
I plead with him to let me go

Unrelenting, Without a word
he extends his arm
slowly forcing me to my knees
I gaze terrified on his face
devoid of any emotion

The sinking hopelessness overcomes my will
the floor seems to open onto an abyss
succumbing to his horrendous power
I plummet headlong into unconsciousness