The Seer (Chapter 07) Poem by Kim Barney
The Seer (Chapter 07)
Something bad is going to happen today,
Charlie whispered to me.
He was in a habit of whispering because
I was the only one who knew that he could
see things in the future.
Today, however, there was no reason for
him to whisper, because just the two of us
were there. We were hunting pheasants
on my dad's alfalfa field down by the
Black Hills, a couple of miles out of town.
When I pointed out to him that there was
nobody around to hear him, he still kept
talking in a low voice, not wanting to scare
the pheasants, he said. He had already
bagged one nice rooster. I had missed one.
There were deer that lived year-round on
those hills, and came down and fed in those
alfalfa fields at night, but I didn't know that
until many years later. We always went up
on Cove Mountain for our deer hunting.
Something bad, huh? How bad will it be?
I have to sit down. Everything is kind of fuzzy,
Charlie said. He sat down in the tall grass of
the ditch bank and I sat down across from him.
The ditch was only about two feet deep and
three feet wide. There was no water in it.
Charlie sat there for a long time without
saying anything more, just kind of staring out
into space. Finally he said, Somebody is
going to get shot. Somebody important.
A king or president of some country.
I waited for Charlie to say more, but he
began staring out into space again. I had
a hard time being patient, but I knew I
shouldn't interrupt his vision or whatever
it was. The pheasant didn't know that.
A huge rooster flushed out, almost right
under our feet, and took off in a flurry
of drumming wings and a couple of
anxious calls. I was so startled I couldn't
get my Mossberg 16 gauge up to my
shoulder before the bird was too far away.
Charlie had not fired a shot either. I looked
over at him and he had a blank look on his
face. His trance had been interrupted, but I
don't think he even knew that it had been
a pheasant that had brought him out of it.
There are at least six men involved in the
planning of this murder, he said. One of
them is going to get caught and blamed
for the whole thing. Then they will kill
him before he ever goes to trial!
Who are they planning to kill, Charlie?
Maybe we can warn him somehow!
I'm afraid it's too late for that. It has
already happened, somewhere in Texas.
What world leader is visiting Texas today?
Neither of us had any idea. Charlie told
me that he had seen a little bit more.
There were three shooters. One was in a
big building and another was
on the top of a grassy knoll.
There was a parade, and the killing had
happened at a spot where the parade passed
the first two shooters. The third shooter
was actually one of the motorcycle cops
in the motorcade, should the other two fail.
Charlie couldn't tell me any more, and it
was starting to get dark. I suggested we
start to walk back to town, and Charlie
had no problem with that suggestion.
It was November 22,1963.
to be continued...
Just find chapter 01, read it and then click the 'next poem' button, which will get you the next chapter.
submitted 15 Sep 2015
Recife, Brazil
This is a work of fiction, although some of the people and places (and events) are real. Charlie is a fictional character, totally made up. I have never known anyone like the person he is described as being.
For those who are unaware, on November 22,1963, the President of the United States of America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. Lee Harvey Oswald was caught and accused of the crime. As he was being transported from jail to the courthouse, he was shot and killed by Jack Ruby, who later died in prison. Conspiracy theories abound concerning this case.
My dad really did have an alfalfa field down by the Black Hills, a couple of miles out of town, and the ditch existed just as I described it here. I used to hunt pheasants there, but never with Charlie, who doesn't exist.
The alfalfa field was part of a larger piece of property. There was the alfalfa field part and the sagebrush part. Dad never did get around to clearing the sagebrush part to make room for more alfalfa fields. I used to love playing around in there.
There were some Navajos who built a ceremonial bath house on the property (with Dad's permission) . It was made of boards, sticks and mud. It was really interesting. It was on the sagebrush part.
Oh, and I really did own a Mossberg 16 gauge shotgun. Still do, in fact, although I don't use it anymore. It is bolt action with a 'C-Lect' choke. (The choke can be dialed to full, modified, improved cylinder, etc.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 4:48:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
i just read: [If you have not already read the previous chapters, you should do so before reading this chapter.] NOW YA TELL ME! ! ! ; sounds pretty familiar. i was in a music appreciation class in 10th grade when our teacher told us about 'Dallas' happening. i saw/heard pheasants in a field down the street. it was thrilling/startling to have them/it fly up suddenly from near me and honk-cackle-call as they didi did not hunt them. i had a bb gun for a while, a hand-me-down from a brother, and i shot a barn swallow off of a barnyard wire once, but i didn't like (really!) that i hit it. it survived, at least for longer than i kept track of. this is arranged like many poems, and i liked the telling of the chapter, but it didn't strike me as poetry. much/most of mine might not strike one as poetry if i didn't almost always use rhyming lines. it was entertaining, but i'll probably wait for the movie on dvd at the library, thanks. bri :)
It is NOT poetry, Bri. I tell you that in the poet's notes. It is a short story.