A December Night In The Deep South...Outside It Is 68 Degrees Poem by Ted Sheridan
A December Night In The Deep South...Outside It Is 68 Degrees
It is now twenty minutes past three in the morning
We just had two inches of rain in the last hour
The ground in front of my house is flooded
My wife is asleep
The dog didn’t wake up
When the doorbell rang
It was three in the morning when I checked the clock
I went down the stairs in my underwear
Curious and only mildly cursing
I turned on the porch lamp and slowly opened the door
A man of twenty or so years of age was standing there
Wet to the bone
He smiled as he reached in his jacket's pocket
With his right hand
While he pushed opened the storm door
With his left hand
But I too am ambidextrous
They’ll have to wait for the ground to dry
Before they bury him….
It is now twenty five minutes past three in the morning
And still raining heavily…
Ah, yes, jail, jail...lovely jail....where you rest, read, write, eat three meals a day, get a college degree, and when you come out...you teach in college...and it is all paid for by ME! Go gettem, Teddy Bear! !
Please don't go getting arrested Ted. We'd miss ya more than you know. t x
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4/25/2024 10:20:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I am so-oo glad I live in a small rural village in a civilised part of the English countryside! This is so evocative. The mundane nature of the situation, the easy description, images of rain noise and sleeping dogs on a hot wet night - leading to the commonplace horror of the reality...I hope this isn't autobiographical! !