The Porch King

A story of an evening spent on Third and Mulberry Streets

Last night, as I sat hunched over on that rusted old folding chair, I peered through the darkness and out onto the street, through the dusty mesh of an old room divider I had propped up in order to hide myself from the eyes of the wicked. I held between my thumb and forefinger the remnants of an old cigar, rescued from the accumulated ash of recent weeks. I brought it to my lips and gave gentle suck which made me wonder.

 

I mused over the words to "King of the Road" and laughed to myself. No longer a king, or leastwise only the confounded ruler of senseless loss, I considered the road which had led me to this darkened porch with its cat and its cans; empty cans now supplanting grail. Whatever majesty I may have once felt while entranced by the highway had long since departed; my legs now barely able to carry me even a short distance and presently facing eviction. In addition, my eyes had become too dim to drive with any sense of safety and I no longer owned a car. These cans had represented some last remaining cornucopia of life and now they were also empty and unfulfilled.

 

I sucked that old stogie I had found and laughed in Freud's face. This was not simply a cigar. It was "short and not too big around," evidence of my own castration. I had no wife and the horse had run off; my former majesty ultimately muted and now almost completely snuffed out. I crushed the last remaining ember on the floor and it burned my fingers. The streetlight shone through the grimy grid of my present hiding place, my last lonely partition, and exploded.

Author's Note

Just say you love me.

Reviews

[Rose of Gondor]

Short but very emotional. This is truly a masterpiece, pieced together so well with a deep depth from its emotional meaning. Wonderfully done. My hat is off to you.

[Mark]

Keve, I owe Bob a huge thank you for bringing this piece to my attention. You have packed more of the desperation and futility of an unfulfilled old age--a topic I know a good deal about, BTW--into three brief paragraphs than I have seen elsewhere, ever. Referring to the cans as former cornucopia, now "unfulfilled" brought to mind a piece I wrote over thirty years ago, referencing an unfulfilled bagel bag. And of course, the cigar symbolism was deftly handled: suggestive without being obvious. Well done, Sir, well done!

[bookworm]

I love you. We good?

Nope. Can't do it. So, this surprised me a bit, I will say. Had no idea what to expect. Held my attention and then some...great flow, vivid imagery, captivating voice of the author. Good solid stuff to work with. Feel free to send me further rr's for this story...

Thanks for the review, btw...i did remove the word in question after all...i think its actually better too...

[Emily B]

so many are finding the end of the road these days . . . I was glad to have been invited here

[RainQueen]

"I considered the road which had led me to this darkened porch with its cat and its cans; empty cans now supplanting grail."

There is usually one line that screams out from any piece for me - This was the one from yours. The disjointed prose plants us in the narrator's mind, dips our hearts in his mood. Beautifully ugly picture of what is left after the romance of the road, of "freedom" fades.

An amazing word-picture. Thanks for letting me peer in the window.

[bob, small b. aka invs]

i was blown away by this short piece. it is, emotionally, so true. the sense of loss that comes with age, a bad economy, and an uncaring world are bundled in this quite accurately. the use of the cigar as a symbol and the song as a personal history are nice touches. if i had one suggestion to make, i would perhaps put a quote from king of the road at the beginning of the story for those who are not of an age to remember it.