Tap-Tap-TappingA Poem by David Lewis PagetWe
were sitting, reminiscing Of
the civil war in Spain, Where
my uncle fought for Franco, Never
saw his home again. There
was Joe, and little Jilly Adam
Sparks and Willie Toole, When
the clock, in striking midnight Seemed
to say: ‘I’ve come for you!’ I
sat up, and watched the others Had
they heard that whispered tone? Jilly
spoke about her brothers, Adam
smoked his pipe alone. They
were musing, Willie snoozing, When
the oaken door had creaked, Whispered
gently, from the tavern. ‘You’ll
be dead within the week!’ We
were sitting, in the parlour Of
the Coach and Horses Inn, Wiped
my forehead, tweaked my collar, Tighter
now than it had been. ‘Are
you ready, for a snifter?’ Joe
had grinned and looked at me, He
had always been a drifter, Nothing
like I thought he’d be. Willie
woke and sipped his sherry, Rubbed
his eyes and looked at Jill, ‘What
d’you think, is Adam ready?’ ‘Not
just yet, dear, you be still!’ Right
outside the sign was swaying, Creaking
on its leather bands, Suddenly
I heard it saying: ‘You
have blood upon your hands!’ Adam
said, ‘I’ve seen you somewhere!’ Looked
at Joe with pensive eye, ‘From
the bench, sometime last Summer…’ Joe
had loosened off his tie. I
cleared my throat to ease the tension, ‘Think
it’s going to rain tonight?’ ‘By
the way, forgot to mention…’ Adam
said, ‘Some thing’s not right!’ Out
beyond the wind was rising, Lightning
flashing from afar, I
could see a shadow moving, Near
the door, out in the bar. Just
about to pour the sherry Suddenly
the lights went down, I
could see the empty chair he’d Sat
in, drifter Joe had gone. ‘Funny
chap,’ said Adam Sparks, The
magistrate from Wattle Hill, ‘Sleeps
out rough in sheds and parks, He
told me,’ said the barmaid Jill. ‘Not
too good out there tonight,’ I
said, ‘It’s pelting down with rain!’ Then
I heard the tap-tap-tapping, Tapping
at the window pane! I
stood up and walked across To
check the window, nothing there. ‘Can’t
you hear that tapping sound,’ I
said, but they just sat and stared. ‘Surely
you can hear that tapping, Tapping
at the window pane…’ ‘It’s
only your imagination, Just
a figment in your brain.’ They
all retired and I went home The
Coach and Horses burned that night, And
they all died, a lightning strike Had
set the whole damn place alight, And
Joe was frizzled in some field Beneath
a giant fallen oak, We’d
only met the once, but we’d Decided,
‘You can’t trust the bloke!’ I
sit here pensive, writing this Tomorrow
it’s a week, it stands, Since
whispers in the Coach and Horses Said
that blood was on my hands. I’ll
not confess my sin to you, It’s
cost too much, a life in pain, But
there I hear it, tap-tap-tapping, Tapping
at my window pane. David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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