The Olde Shoppe Bell
I hear the bell like ex-wives voices nagging
Hanging,beneath the olde shoppe door ringing
When someone enters through
They have and I do
A swift little dance and a more ridiculous jig
To that stupid and silly sounding thing
Every time I hear it, it echoes in my head
As if far fetched fantasies
An ominous figure the tiny brass is introducing
In the black trench coat to appear instead
Along with hat that eclipses his face
There he'll be, standing
Eyeing all from beyond his place
Patrons inside slow turn in sync trembling in fear
As if death were choosing its next victim "right here"
It wouldn't be long before I could no longer hold on
From hysterics and laughter outward and in directions forthwith
Toward the harbinger announcments of cruel intentions
As the next candidate bound on hell train's transportion
And beneath the door prodding sounds once more
That stupid bell again starts ringing
And I'd think to myself " surely no angel has gotten their wings"
So under my breath laughing, then jump heel clicking, dancing a more ridiculous jig
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
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