666 Alverstone Ave.
written by: Gerry Stefanson
@gerry_stefanson
It called me
as Ric spoke on Ellice Ave car to car, him to me
both on a separate hunt for the same place
perchance or not where called, now we arrived
we didn’t know but we knew when it spied us
we moved in a week later
him to his own new business me to college
we all got an education.
It all worked or began to
It called us all.
1st we were never sure
then we knew we were
a tale that retells itself
chess plays the players move
we all happy to be there played
then the game played out in earnest.
“other tenants” took their side
board changed not all black/white
not all red/black all convoluted
our playbook was a blank page
yet didn’t have a Crayola
others on their game
clipboards, note, mail.
we believed a monk was without his habit
A wife with a husband whose costume was “wife beater shirt”
A baby without kind parents
A gun minus shells
A set of shells with a secret under one
A frying pan without a steak
A heart that needed a stake through it
A head, arm, full of stitches, broken glass
A pair of cops who didn’t use handcuffs
A celebrity prof. who helped make a deal
A whack of quick solid advice
A match that didn’t strike
An old address with almost another ghost
To add to its invisible mailbox list.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
I resided at the Alverstone house. The mansion was divided into suites. My suite was on the top floor with two garrets. It was a storied home and not one Trick or Treater darkened our door on Halloween. Many events there inspired the story I tell.
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