***the Rider Poem by Coach Roth

***the Rider

Rating: 2.7


***A bedtime story for Frank James Ryan Jr. who has encouraged my writings, and inspired by the Forum discussions of what type of poetry is best and who should be allowed to judge.***

The Rider

I met the Rider in 94…
Waiting for a bus outside Dunleith…
A new co-worker of mine
in the literary department…
thought I would save him
the thirty minutes of bumps
and jostles…

Seemed harmless at the time,
unless you consider
I was having a very bad year.

Chart my life on a graph,
and 94 was one dot above death.
My wife had left me and taken
my house, my life savings, and my dog…
God I miss that dog.

The Rider was quiet at first…
Handsome but unassuming…
muscular but deceptively so…
Staring out the window
at the river and bluffs rolling by…
wished I had turned the radio on.
But that’s the type of year it was…

“Did you ever have a secret that
you’ve never told anyone? ”

Don’t tell it now should have been
my response…instead…
“You mean how secretly
I’ve always wanted to write
novels instead of ad copy.”

“No, like how you’re a specialist.”

“What type of writing? ”

“Not writing, murder…
a hired gun, contract killer,
professional assassin.”
True or crazy, the Rider
was freaking me out.
“Why a specialist? ”

“Because I come into town,
Set up a fake identity,
get close to the mark.
Manufacture a valid reason
for killing him, do the job.
Cops know who to look for
not knowing I don’t exist…
But they never think to look
for the one who paid me,
Cause they know I did it….

It pays millions…
have all the luxuries of life
but can’t ever let my guard down.
Have to live in society without
ever being a member.
Afraid to put myself out there…
After 30 years, I still don’t
know anyone, can’t be close to anyone.
No one to listen to my problems,
to understand me…
I’m completely alone.”

The Rider saw the look
of horror on my face…

“What, hey it’s not you.
Your wife couldn’t afford
to hire me...even with your money.
Yeah I know about you…
Have to know everything
to be a specialist.
You’re lonely just like me,
so I know I can trust you…
I’ll do the job, be gone…
Won’t be back…long
as you don’t tell.”

Offered him a ride the next morning…
I showed up with a sprained elbow
from basketball…would he drive?
Halfway there pulled the gun
from the splint…took the next
dirt road to an abandoned
rock quarry…two hundred feet
of icy cold undisturbed water.
Got out of the car…

The Rider sneered...
“You can’t do this…don’t have
the stuff for it.”

I'd been doing some hard thinking...

“When you’re on a bad streak…
sometimes you have to take chances…
Change everything and go for it…
I may not be a specialist
may not have the same skills
as you, but I appreciate
you...and am only doing
what you would do
if you were me.”

The Rider started to cry.
Didn’t seem the type…
“Don’t kill me…
I was lying…that’s what I do.
I’m a writer…I make up stories.
I tell lies.”

“Bad year to tell me your secret.”

The Rider’s eyes went hard again…
“Do yourself a favor…
No matter how lonely you get…
Don’t tell.”

I pulled the trigger…
And haven’t told…
Until now.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Onelia Avelar 26 May 2008

It is a horror bed story for men :) with no love and only a ghost of an evil woman, well penned story, absorbing like a nightmare...You are good in what are you doing :)

0 0 Reply
~ Jon London ~ 29 April 2008

Remarkable write, you certainly have the gift Coach. all the very best Jon

0 0 Reply

All the touchtones of a Hitchcockian story, or an abreviated Stephen King penning, is most present here, and bristling, as this most honoured recipient of your talented tell tale of fictioned madness, be one that i most assuredly recommend, for a bedtime literary snack, and in fact about to place this reader in a most enscocing state of slzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

0 0 Reply

This reader always judges for herself, and adjudicates a minimum of a fair ten... t x

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Coach Roth

Coach Roth

East Dubuque, IL
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