A SHORT STORY IN VERSE -- ONE
James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.
© December 22, 2009
The train station was a relic of the past, now a soot covered red brick block building with crumbling cornices that once flared out with energy and confidence. It is located stolidly on Nebraska Avenue at the entrance to Ybor City, the Cuban community that once displayed a booming Cuban cigar manufacturing industry. Now, the decorative streets are empty, the balloon lights of Seventh Street opague with age, the recreational square once alive with ageless bowlers now unattended, while the rich aroma of tobacco coming from factories and warehouses now only a stale odor. Only montages in Cuban restaurants show scores of workers carefully wrapping leaves of tobacco while the caller reads the daily newspaper to them in Spanish.
The past here was all but dead, as was Seamus “Dirk” Devlin, although only 38, as he made his way into the Amtrak Railroad Depot for a coffee.
The station's waiting room with its giant rafters in the ceiling and long benches far below was dark, dusty and dreary. Yet Devlin came here every day to wrap its deadness around him because of one bright candle of light, a young lady named Bonnie serving coffee. Radiant as her light, he noticed she had difficulty making change. He chose to give this little mind as in his deadness she was keeping him alive.
“I’ve written you another poem.” He had asked her to read his previous poems but she demurred. It soon became apparent she could not read. It saddened him to see one so lovely so handicapped in life. But then he thought, who is more handicapped them I?
She puckered up her nose, smiled shyly and said, “Please, Shaymus, read it to me, please!”
Devlin took a sip of his coffee, after adding cream and sugar, and felt his body once again become alive with its warmth, warmth he only felt of late when he was writing his poetry. “It is not very good. You might think it a bit sentimental.”
“Senti-what, what do you mean Shaymus?”
“Syrupy like the sugar I load my coffee with.”
“Oh, silly, I’d never think that. Please read it.”
So he did.
* * *
I close my eyes and I see you there, wild eyes, and a loving stare,
I open my soul and I see you there Irish nose and a lass so fair,
I dream my dream and I see you there, loving lips and a taste so rare,
I fly to thee and I see you there sensual form and a love to bare.
* * *
“That’s it!” He waits. Tears form in the corner of her eyes.
“That’s about me?”
“Well, yes, I mean, yes, yes it’s about you.”
“It’s so loving. It’s so different than your last poem about me.”
Devlin felt awkward. He knew what she meant but feigned being confused. She read his eyes.
“We live in different worlds, Shaymus. Mine is full of danger.”
“The world is a dangerous place.”
“Now, you’re doing it again. You’re saying something that has no meaning to me and saddens me when you talk that way. I pick fruit, Shaymus, and have since I was a little girl. My mother is an exotic dancer and we have a house now, but only until she has to find another job. Then we move on and I pick fruit with the seasons.”
“How old is your mother?”
“Thirty three. She had me when she was fourteen.” She smiles. “We’re practically sisters.”
“And your father?”
“Never met him. Have had a lot of uncles over the years that have bunked down with us, but never a father.”
“Any siblings, any brother or sisters?”
“No, why do you ask?” She puckered her lips.
“No reason.”
“You're married!”
“Yes.”
“Any children?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“More than one.”
“What do you do? You’re here practically every day.”
“Nothing much.”
“Nothing much? How can you afford that?”
“I used to work. I’m vegetating now. I mean, I’m a bit of a bum now.”
“You don’t look like a bum, don't apeak or dress like a bum. You look like somebody important. Shaymus are you important?”
“Alas, no!”
“Were you important?”
“No, never, Bonnie, I’m just an ordinary person.”
“When you talk like that staring at me, you make me nervous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be. It is just that your deep blue eyes are a bit fierce sometimes. How do you explain that?”
Silence.
“Do you have that poem with you that sounded like a song.” He looked puzzled. “The one where you describe me as Angel Hair.”
“I read that last time and you cried. I don’t want to make you cry.”
“Do you know why I was crying?”
“Because I upset you?”
“Because Shaymus you touched my heart. Please, read it again."
And so Devlin did.
* * *
Angel hair, spirit of steel, christened to this restless night,
Boil with beauty, flash with anger, live my love til dawn’s daylight.
Bonnie over the bounty, Bonnie over the sea, Bonnie restless Bonnie never stop fighting with glee.
Angel hair, spirit of steel, christened to this restless night,
Dance what moves you, glance where would you, live my love and claim thy right.
Bonnie over the bounty, Bonnie over the sea, Bonnie precious Bonnie, never stop living so free.
You, old as time, young as night, me, ever mindful, never time full, watching whence there looms thy light,
Born worn, girl woman of mind, nature naturing ever so kind, taste me with scent’s magic eyes, let us caress lest we surmise, be daring as the hour’s dim, thank God for love for nature’s whim,
Bonnie is as Bonnie was, the moment, restless moment, twas, the cause of joy, a new found heart, a love of birds, of sea, of wind and art,
Blessed be these merry atoms of eternity, a fool nigh old, a golden lass, locked in thought, the moments pass,
Bonnie over the bounty, Bonnie over the sea, Bonnie, lovely Bonnie, never stop flying to me.
* * *
She cried again, excused herself and went to the restroom. When she came back, Devlin could smell cigarettes in her hair and whiskey on her breath. She was however more composed.
“You are a strange man.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“But a strange beautiful man. What do you want of me, Shaymus?”
The question shattered his composure yet he could not find his voice. She studied him.
“Life is such a puzzle to you, isn’t it Shaymus.”
He looked away.
“My world is not the answer. My world could kill you. The answer is in your world if it is anywhere. There is no love in my world, Shaymus, and you are in love with love. I can’t help you and it saddens me. I don’t know if love exists. I only know it doesn’t in my world, perhaps not in yours either but I still hope you find it.”
“We always end this way,” he managed finally, “have you noticed that? Here I am twice your age and you try to comfort me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we live in different worlds and you refuse to see that.”
“Can I come by again?”
“I’ll think about it.”
* * *
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