[untitled]

“I’m not the sort of person begotten to fanciful dreams,”
Mr. Peabody’s eyes scowled at me with a darkened sort of gleam.

For fourteen years did he inhabit the house on Maple and Elm

Whose dilapidated shingles and unkempt lawn marked his forlorn realm.

 

His hair and his house were both grey, his daffodils sprout up grey,

The sky over his house remained charcoal, August, June, and May.

His window shutters clung shut as though the light were his bane

Old Ms. Thornapple regularly left cookies on the doorstep in vain.

 

Mr. Peabody was death the kids squealed with pleasured delight

One look at his shriveled old face, they’d say, would turn day to eternal night.

It was the dare of the kids to creep into his front lawn

And not turn to dust, as was the myth, before the stroke of dawn.

 

Gerald Asher (the baker’s son) was the biggest kid around
Five foot seven; he weighed two-hundred-eleven, and the meanest boy in town,

He caught me walking alone, one afternoon in the fall

After a hard day of spending at the local shopping mall.

 

He cornered me in the alley behind The Grocery Store

And I prepared myself for death, as many such kids did before.

He laughed at my terror, and his freckles snickered with utter bliss

The rolls on his bulky belly seemed to say “It don’t get better than this.”

 

As he cracked his knuckles with pride and took aim to take life
But stopped, just short of actually deciding to take mine.

He howled with joy, a rare thing for that boy, and then told me why;

I’ve an idea (a first I’m sure) and you’ve no choice but to comply.

 

“Tonight you’ll sneak out and go wait until four

On the top step that resides in front of Old Peabody’s front door!”

A gasp escaped from my lungs, I cried “Gerald, kill me please!

I don’t want to be turned to dust and blown away by a sneeze!”

 

He cackled at his wit (as dim as that might have been)

“Be there at four you little maggot, I’ll seen you then!”

His words echoed like an omen, whispering coldly in my ear

Through the long walk home, through an untouched dinner, the last I would hear.

 

At the stroke of three I pulled myself to my knees

I prayed, “Dear Lord, I’ll see you soon”, and crept slowly down Elm Street.

I saw that bully Gerald waiting by the picket fence,

His fists curled tightly and his mountainous shoulders tense.

 

I tiptoed through the gate and up the six steps to await

The wrath of wrinkly Peabody and thusly my untimely fate.

Gerald hissed, “Ring the bell!” And I of course did as I was told;

A light flew on and

“I’m not the sort of person begotten to fanciful dreams,”
Mr. Peabody’s eyes scowled at me with a darkened sort of gleam.

For fourteen years did he inhabit the house on Maple and Elm

Whose dilapidated shingles and unkempt lawn marked his forlorn realm.

 

His hair and his house were both grey, his daffodils sprout up grey,

The sky over his house remained charcoal, August, June, and May.

His window shutters clung shut as though the light were his bane

Old Ms. Thornapple regularly left cookies on the doorstep in vain.

 

Mr. Peabody was death the kids squealed with pleasured delight

One look at his shriveled old face, they’d say, would turn day to eternal night.

It was the dare of the kids to creep into his front lawn

And not turn to dust, as was the myth, before the stroke of dawn.

 

Gerald Asher (the baker’s son) was the biggest kid around
Five foot seven; he weighed two-hundred-eleven, and the meanest boy in town,

He caught me walking alone, one afternoon in the fall

After a hard day of spending at the local shopping mall.

 

He cornered me in the alley behind The Grocery Store

And I prepared myself for death, as many such kids did before.

He laughed at my terror, and his freckles snickered with utter bliss

The rolls on his bulky belly seemed to say “It don’t get better than this.”

 

As he cracked his knuckles with pride and took aim to take life
But stopped, just short of actually deciding to take mine.

He howled with joy, a rare thing for that boy, and then told me why;

I’ve an idea (a first I’m sure) and you’ve no choice but to comply.

 

“Tonight you’ll sneak out and go wait until four

On the top step that resides in front of Old Peabody’s front door!”

A gasp escaped from my lungs, I cried “Gerald, kill me please!

I don’t want to be turned to dust and blown away by a sneeze!”

 

He cackled at his wit (as dim as that might have been)

“Be there at four you little maggot, I’ll seen you then!”

His words echoed like an omen, whispering coldly in my ear

Through the long walk home, through an untouched dinner, the last I would hear.

 

At the stroke of three I pulled myself to my knees

I prayed, “Dear Lord, I’ll see you soon”, and crept slowly down Elm Street.

I saw that bully Gerald waiting by the picket fence,

His fists curled tightly and his mountainous shoulders tense.

 

I tiptoed through the gate and up the six steps to await

The wrath of wrinkly Peabody and thusly my untimely fate.

Gerald hissed, “Ring the bell!” And I of course did as I was told;

A light flew on and pounding steps echoed through the abode.

 

As heaven’s gates loomed closer I cringed even lower

A hand shot through the door and pulled me into the tower.

 

 pounding steps echoed through the abode.

 

As heaven’s gates loomed closer I cringed even lower

A hand shot through the door and pulled me into the tower.

 

 

Author's Note

It's not finished yet