A Fictional Poem I Wrote On a Whim

A Fictional Poem I Wrote On a Whim

by CB

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I walk up to the old stone door,
I wrench open the old gate,
Now knowing what was in store.
And then I find that I am late.

Inside were dozens of old things,
I recoil from a stuffed Griffin,
From skeletons to something that sings.
And find myself told that I’m unbidden.

I whirl around, seeing an old man standing there.
As it turned out, he was the caretaker,
I wonder to myself, “Why would this old man care?”
And I was just a troublemaker.

“So sorry, sir,” I said, quite scared.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” I say, backing away,
And lickity-split, I ran from that old neighborhood.
“Sorry, sir, but I’ll come back, some other day!”