Charlie's RoomA Poem by David Lewis PagetIt was just on the stroke of midnight, I was going to go to bed, But I had to pass by Charlie’s room So I hung back there, instead, I could hear the rattle of drums that came From under his bedroom door, And then the sound of a French ‘Huzzah!’ From a Napoleonic war.
I thought, ‘He’s at it again, he’s got The Frenchies marching east, He’s going to Borodino, where He’s got a chance, at least, He’s leading the French Grand Armée As Napoleon did before, But I couldn’t get in to stop him, as He’d locked his bedroom door.
I shook my head and I went to bed, There was no point hanging round, For Charlie, he’d be up all night ‘Til the Armée went to ground, By dawn he’d have them dragging back From the Russian ice and snow, And wouldn’t be fit to go to school ‘Til he’d had a sleep, you know.
He wasn’t a kid like other kids He wouldn’t play with a phone, He didn’t get into computer games But he spent his time alone. He didn’t make friends so easily For he never went out to play, But stuck his head in a history book And would read and read all day.
They said he must have been gifted in Some strange, abnormal way, He used his imagination for The games he wanted to play, His mind reached back to another time Where the personae were dead, And brought them back for a second chance On the counterpane of his bed.
I caught a glimpse of the action once In a crack through his bedroom door, A galleon moored in a harbour by An armed Conquistador, He saw me there and he slammed the door And he said, ‘Don’t interfere! I’m trying to raise the English Fleet And I can’t if you’re standing there!’
His mother took him to town one day To see a psychologist, Who said, ‘He lives in a world of his own, I think he’s really blessed. We all grow out of our childish ways And I think he’ll be the same.’ He thought it was all in Charlie’s head ‘Til the day that ‘Little Boy’ came.
He’d read and read of the second war For a month until that day, When I heard the aircraft engines I Just knew, the ‘Enola Gay’, I beat and beat upon Charlie’s door, Broke out in a cold, cold sweat, But the plane took off, and I grabbed the wife And we’d still be running yet.
We were out in the road when the roof blew off With a mighty blast and roar, And the mushroom cloud was curling up While we lay, flat out on the floor, Charlie had gone from our lives for good With his gift, and his bag of tricks, Hard to believe that he had the power, For Charlie was only six!
David Lewis Paget © 2014 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
1453 Views
28 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on March 19, 2014Last Updated on March 19, 2014 Tags: Borodino, Napoleon, Galleon, Conquistador Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|