I like the story Noun but I don't see the poetry unfortunately. This feels
like an outline for work in progress and needs an injection of rhythm to
move the piece along. Hope this helps.
bw
James
>From: noun <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: At the Table
>Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2002 01:13:19 +0000
>
>Rugus Dawson sat with his napkin tied around his neck,
>fork ready, staring dreamily at the roast turkey
>Mother placed the gravy boat on the table,
>directly in front of Rugus. I watched his eyes move.
>Eight of us were about to feast but not before mother asked Rugus to give
>the blessing.
>Rugus please, our guest, will you offer thanks giving?
>Rugus quickly untied his bib, placing his fork by an empty plate, he arose.
>Dear God, you have delivered me and these, to this table
>I push my gluttony aside to thank you for these friends and your bounty
>My belly shall soon be full with food from these table bowls
>but not as full as my heart, with love, for thee and these.
>amen
>we all said amen
>Rugus sat and tied his bib back on, picked up his fork and waited for the
>bowls to pass.
>
>Father carved the turkey, talking all the while about the dull knife,
>he de-breasted the brown succulent bird in layers of white slices
>we watched, seven of us, while mother thanked Rugus for his grace
>
>Rugus said the best part of the turkey is the leg.
>Father looked up, before he went back carving.
>
>Would you like a leg Rugus? Father said,
>pointing the carving knife at Rugus.
>Mother arose, as father directed the knife to her
>Or would you rather take my wife?
>
>In that moment, like magic, we knew
>father was not father.
>
>noun
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