Saturday, March 14, 2015

bob: a poem

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

once there was a guy named bob
his fellow humans thought him a slob
even his mama didn't like him much
and his brothers and sisters never kept in touch

bob would go for long walks at night
but was never blinded by a sudden light
he was never mugged or accosted by strangers
and was curiously immune to danger

zombies and werewolves walked the streets
but none of them he chanced to meet

alien spaceships patrolled the skies
but kidnapped other girls and guys

he had a television in his little room
but viewed it as the voice of doom
and preferred, if you please
his solitary fantasies

sometimes when the weather was hot
and his brain as usual was empty of thought
or even when the night was cold
and nothing in his mind would unfold

he would put on his coat and hat
open his door and just like that
find himself outside in the street
without a soul to meet or greet

this night was a little different
where had everybody went?
you’d say, the streets are empty, not really true
there’d always be some people, one or two

but tonight the streets were really bare
there was just nobody there
bob thought it was sort of strange
and wondered by whom it had been arranged

bob had suspected from birth
that he would be the last person left on earth
the gypsy had told him he was fated
and through the centuries he had waited

he had watched other people grow old and die
but kept his mouth shut, because he was sly
and was afraid of how they would regard him
if they knew his chances of dying were so slim

and now the moment had finally come
he thought he heard a distant drum
the letters of fate would be unsealed
and his destiny was to be revealed

raindrops began to fall on his head
as onward the street inexorably led
he awaited a sign - a light - a token
and yet the silence remained unbroken

day later dawned in a swirling mist
bob was never found nor missed
other humans passed by in streams
with even sadder and grander dreams