Death of Harry Flannigan by Wilma Seville
Harry Flannigan
A house steeped in sorrow, looking unsightly
Harry’s home, born there seventy years ago in May
the Flannigans, Mother, Father, Sister, all dead
died young, decent people, death by motor car.
Harry lives alone, except for Sammy
in fifty years he’s had several cats at home
never married, you see, his mind affected
by the terrible crash which snatched his whole family.
Harry alone survived the accident, you know
damage to his face and ears with loss of hearing
an ugly scar running from eyebrow to neck
disfiguring his former spectacular good looks.
Old Harry, friendless, alone except for “Sammy”
went to bed one night, all doors and windows bolted
sleeping soundly as his custom was, never dreaming
in the basement, danger lurked waiting till he slept.
A man with scraggly matted hair slowly crept upstairs
the creaking of the old staircase should have alerted deaf old Harry
sleeping on the narrow bed which was his since a boy
creeping, creeping, getting closer to his room.
The stranger, coming off a high, needed cash, you see
to buy his next fix from the dealer which is not free
an intruder filled with hate and anger
intent on grabbing valuables to sell for cash.
The hidden knife in dirty tattered jeans pocket
betrayed his awful motive in coming there
old Harry, defenseless and frail, lying so still
seemed to taunt the crazed dope addict in his mind.
Harry awoke with a start uncertain of the danger he sensed
his sleep crusted eyes focused in the dim light unseeing
the awful presence standing beside his bed
steel blade of hunting knife clutched in hands that shook.
Sammy lying beside him, claws extended, was no match
yowling filled the stillness of the upstairs bedroom
hunting knife plunging into arched orange body
crimson blood spattered on white crumpled bed sheets.
In spite of hard difficult trying times in Harry’s life
loss of family, good looks, hearing and no wife or children
the will to live in him continued very strong
he tried to fight against the younger person
Harry watched in horror as the hand came closer to him
his mind still groggy with insufficient sleep
his only thought, escape the smelly vile man
who held the blood stained hunting knife.
His blood mingled with that of Sammy
As he took his last breath
Together in life, together in death.
A house steeped in sorrow, looking unsightly
Harry’s home, born there seventy years ago in May
the Flannigans, Mother, Father, Sister, all dead
died young, decent people, death by motor car.
Harry lives alone, except for Sammy
in fifty years he’s had several cats at home
never married, you see, his mind affected
by the terrible crash which snatched his whole family.
Harry alone survived the accident, you know
damage to his face and ears with loss of hearing
an ugly scar running from eyebrow to neck
disfiguring his former spectacular good looks.
Old Harry, friendless, alone except for “Sammy”
went to bed one night, all doors and windows bolted
sleeping soundly as his custom was, never dreaming
in the basement, danger lurked waiting till he slept.
A man with scraggly matted hair slowly crept upstairs
the creaking of the old staircase should have alerted deaf old Harry
sleeping on the narrow bed which was his since a boy
creeping, creeping, getting closer to his room.
The stranger, coming off a high, needed cash, you see
to buy his next fix from the dealer which is not free
an intruder filled with hate and anger
intent on grabbing valuables to sell for cash.
The hidden knife in dirty tattered jeans pocket
betrayed his awful motive in coming there
old Harry, defenseless and frail, lying so still
seemed to taunt the crazed dope addict in his mind.
Harry awoke with a start uncertain of the danger he sensed
his sleep crusted eyes focused in the dim light unseeing
the awful presence standing beside his bed
steel blade of hunting knife clutched in hands that shook.
Sammy lying beside him, claws extended, was no match
yowling filled the stillness of the upstairs bedroom
hunting knife plunging into arched orange body
crimson blood spattered on white crumpled bed sheets.
In spite of hard difficult trying times in Harry’s life
loss of family, good looks, hearing and no wife or children
the will to live in him continued very strong
he tried to fight against the younger person
Harry watched in horror as the hand came closer to him
his mind still groggy with insufficient sleep
his only thought, escape the smelly vile man
who held the blood stained hunting knife.
His blood mingled with that of Sammy
As he took his last breath
Together in life, together in death.
posted by John Stiles at 12:24 pm
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