At Numero 69

They say it’s been empty for quite some time,

But I’ve seen a flickering torch,

Late at night when the moon is bright

The light is red on the porch.

And shadows move by the hedgerows there

Like spectres that flit in the night,

The door will creak as the seekers seek,

While the blinds are pulled down tight.

And something creaks where the attic peaks

It could be a number of things,

A flutter of leaves, the wind in the eaves

Or the sound of some old bed springs.

The neighbours hide and they stay inside

When the Moon comes up on the rise,

They say no way can the children play,

It would be a blot on their eyes.

For Elspeth comes as the sun goes down

In a skirt as short as can be,

With fishnet tights in both blacks and whites,

They say she’s brewing the tea.

Perhaps they’re playing Canasta there

Or playing for poker chips,

They may be dancing the night away,

She sure has a dancer’s hips.

Whatever it is they do in there

I’ll have to go in to find,

The state of play that they do each day

At Numero sixty-nine.

I’ll stay nonplussed till I get it sussed,

I wonder what it could be?

It’s just my luck, if I go to look,

I’ll catch her brewing the tea.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Temptation and wonder. A dangerous thing to know. I enjoyed the tale and the thoughts in the poetry. Thank you David for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Tony Jordan]

If the housenumber fits...and all that...lol
Reminded me somewhat of the song 'Son of Hickory Holler's Tramp' which gave me an idea to find out what's happening. Kick a football into the house then retrieve it!

[Wallace Beery]

It's a rare writer who can take something so crude as a whorehouse and see it through innocent eyes! Great work!

[A Soap Mess Stories]

He wonders what is going on...if she is really brewing tea...good story David.