I peeked out of the peephole. He was leaning in toward it so that I could see little else but his eye. I threw open the door. He was juggling a number of items in his hands. “Hi, I’m Lualla, you must be Edgar,” I greeted him. “Can I help you with that?” I asked reaching for the flowers he carried. They were in a jam jar anchored with pebbles. The bouquet looked like the blooms off my plumbago. I looked over his shoulder and saw that my bush had been ravished. (or is that ravaged?)
“Yes, they are for Lacy. Are you her twin?” he queried.
“No, Lacy is my initials, Lualla is my name.” I motioned for him to enter and he stepped inside where he was assaulted by my pup.
“This is my new puppy. What do you think of her?”
He reached down to pat her on the head. “Your puppy is adora…” He stopped seemingly mid-word. She had rolled over and peed on his shoe. It’s an act of submission that some young pups will do. “She goes nicely with your furniture,” he remarked, “especially your polished ebony piano and your black lacquer chairs.”
Dang! This Poe fella thought like I did! That was really exciting, but also a bit freaky! I might not even have to explain how my spiritual healing worked.
I grabbed a paper towel and mopped up his shoes and noticed that today his socks were a matching shade of grayish white – the way socks come out when you wash your whites with your colored. “Have a seat on the couch. I was going to make some coffee. Is that good for you?”
“It’s my favorite beverage,” he responded.
I like to make coffee in a French press, since my other coffeemaker broke back when I took it to the mountain. It’s a simple tool constructed of a beaker in which you place the coffee and the hot water. After allowing the mix to steep for a bit, the grounds are forced to the bottom with a screen that fits tightly against the walls and is pushed down like a plunger. It makes really strong, rich coffee similar to that in the Vietnamese and Lebanese restaurants. The only real drawback is that it does not stay hot for very long, but that is not an issue with me as I like coffee at all temperatures.
As I put the water on to boil, I had the opportunity to look over my quarry. He looked even paler than the previous day, but appeared well-groomed in spite of the gray socks. He still had packages in his hand. He did not seem to have that lustful look in his eyes, though. I hoped I had not misread his intentions.
“Do you barter for services?” he asked.
“What are you bringing to the table,” I asked coyly.
“I brought a book for you and a chocolate and I wrote a poem for you. I hope you like them,” he said sheepishly. On the coffee table he placed a worn copy of Thoreau’s WALDEN and a small gold Godiva box (which I assumed held one chocolate) and he began reciting his poem.
LACY
by Edgar A. Poet
Lacy, dear, it surely is most fit
[Logic and common usage so commanding]
In thy own book that first thy name be writ,
Zeno and other sages notwithstanding;
And I have other reasons for so doing
Besides my innate love of contradiction;
Each poet - if a poet - in pursuing
The muses thro' their bowers of Truth or Fiction,
Has studied very little of his part,
Read nothing, written less - in short's a fool
Endued with neither soul, nor sense, nor art,
Being ignorant of one important rule,
Employed in even the theses of the school-
Called - I forget the heathenish Greek name
[Called anything, its meaning is the same]
"Always write first things uppermost in the heart."
Dang! This Poe fella was romantic! Flowers, chocolate, poetry, most guys only ever wanted to frock me – though there is nothing wrong with a good frock. “Well that’s quite beautiful Edgar. Are you sure you didn’t write this for Elizabeth?”
“No, this is my first poem and it is just for you. Generally I just write blogs about things like ravens and crows. But wait, I need to edit it, because you’re Lualla, not Lacy,” and he recited the poem again substituting Lualla for Lacy, dear. You know, it sounded wonderful both ways and much better than Elizabeth. I decided I wasn’t going to let a little confusion or plagiarism get in the way of my carnal pleasures.
I walked over to the couch, plunked down next to him, wrapped my arms around him and planted my mouth over his. Umm, he tasted of minty toothpaste and smelled of oatmeal soap. He caught on to my style of spiritual healing immediately and before the teakettle could announce that the water was boiling, we were madly exploring one another with eyes, hands and mouths, caressing and kissing.
to be concluded -- where I reveal just how contemptible I am...
Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)
|
|
read more blogs!
Blogs by lacyvsq:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Another facet...A pup and a pop Pt4 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|