Last Tuesday at midnight dreary
While I pondered weak and weary
Seeking something to peruse
By God I said I’ll watch Fox news.
While I watched, nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping,
Rapping at my old front door.
“Tis some visitor” I muttered
“Tapping at my old front door.
Only this and nothing more.”
I sat there in despair unjustly accused,
So unfair, of murdering the Pirate’s little bird.
There are many who wished him dead,
Yet they have chosen me instead
Who sniffed the life out of that bag of feathers,
The Pirate’s parrot of lore
Nameless here for evermore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow hoping
For surcease of sorrow - sorrow
For the death of Bloody Parrot.
Through it all I stand aloof
For they simply got no proof.
They are charges without merit
For I know they got no parrot.
They will find him nevermore.
Now the tapping continues with a sad uncertain rapping
Just outside my old front door.
The sound thrilled me with fantastic terrors
I have never felt before.
So that now, to still my beating heart,
I stood repeating; “Tis some visitor entreating entrance
at my old front door.
Some late visitor entreating entrance
At my old front door.
That it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger.
Hesitating then no longer I loudly stated;
“If you’re the cops I aint here,
And anyway I’ve naught to fear.”
I flung wide the door.
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering,
Long I stood there fearing
As the perfume of sunflower seeds flied in the air,
As I gripped the doorway fast
One blue feather floated past
And settled gently on my floor.
Twas a feather nothing more.
Back into my room turning,
All my soul within me burning
Once again I heard the tapping
Somewhat louder than before.
Surely there is something at my lattice.
Let me see what there at is
And this mystery explore,
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter,
When with many flirt and flutter
Bloody Parrot as in days of yore
Set himself upon my floor.
My God you’re dead of this I’m sure,
How is that you yet endure.
Now get your butt up off my floor
Or by God I’ll sweep you out the door.
Quote the Parrot: “Nevermore.”
Since the disappearance of my bird the Time Traveler has gone ape doo-doo. He has locked himself in his house and has been writing really bad poetry. I think on his next time traveling road trip he should apologize to Edgar Allan Poe personally. I’ve heard there were strange goings on at the Traveler’s place so I dropped by to see what was up. Climbing his front stairs I listened at his door for a second, then rapped lightly. Suddenly from inside his place, a great commotion erupted. He started cussing and it sounded like he was sliding furniture around as if he was barricading his door, then he screamed: “Bird or devil, take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form off my door.” “It’s just me, the Pirate,” I shouted back. There was a moment’s silence, then from inside, near the door, in a house whisper the Traveler asked: “Do you hear it?” “Hear what?” I asked in a much louder voice. Traveler said. “The heart, can’t you hear it?” “What heart?” I asked. “The parrot’s beating heart” he fairly shrieked. “He has come back for vengeance, his tell-tale heart gets louder by the minute. He is driving me insane!”
“I hear nothing,” I calmly said. “Hist you fool and listen,” he screeched. So I listened and sure enough I faintly heard a muffled rhythmic sound. It wasn’t coming from the Traveler’s apartment but from somewhere down below. I descended the steps and now I could hear a faint tha-thump—tha-thump—tha-thump. Entering his storage room the sound grew more pronounced. Making my way past his worn out lawn mowers, toy Tonka trucks and his moldy collection of “Playboy,” through the dim light I saw a door. Cautiously I approached. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the door. Slowly, ever so slowly I turned the knob. Inch by inch I opened the door. Now the sound was truly frightening. Tha-thump—tha-thumpity—tha-thump—tha-thump. Fearfully, with shaking hand I fumbled in the dark searching for a light switch. I finally found it and clicked it on. What I saw sent me running pell-mell, tripping, falling over rake handles, bicycles, old buckets. I raced up his stairs, pounded on his door and yelled; “Your washing machine is out of balance you moron.” From inside I heard only the muffled whimpering of a madman. I walked quietly away to leave the Traveler to deal with his guilt as best he could.