The Bringer of Fire
Tell me, old man, I said to the figure
hunched in the doorway,
why are you waiting here
for the odd thrown coin?
There is a world you must have seen.
Didn’t it glitter? Didn’t it
beckon you with its soft sigh?
What are you waiting for
half in darkness, half in light, as the world passes by?
He had a bloody bandage wound around,
and an ancient bowl, rough with years, smoking at his feet.
I saw the world, he said.
Saw it from a distance, you could say .
From a mountain top.
I gestured with distain.
A safe distance?
Not very safe, he grunted, shifting in his pain.
He caught the coin I threw,
before it hit the bowl,
but some low-life swooped
and seized the bowl, dropped it,
howling, and ran with hands smoking, red raw.
The old man looked at me. I came all this way,
he said, to give you this glow.
Take it.
Use it wisely.
And don’t burn the place down as you go.
Edward Alport is a retired teacher and proud Essex Boy. He occupies his time as a poet, gardener and writer for children. He has had poetry, articles and stories published in various webzines and magazines and performed on BBC Radio and Edinburgh Fringe. He sometimes posts snarky micropoems on Twitter as @cross_mouse.
Amethyst Review 