The Macaw is very loosely based on a real incident. *
Once upon a pizza delivery, while the driver, working, weary,
Winding over an old and lonely road to finish up her chore,
Came to house she had been mapping, saved her from a sudden napping
Saved her from a face-wake slapping, mapping to the target door.
“Okay, people,” she muttered, mapping to the target door,
…“Tis the pizza, nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly, she remembers, it was in a dark November,
And each separate fallen leaf was rustling, rasping on earth’s floor.
Anxiously she wished a big tip, thinking hard about the long trip
Hoping fierce against a big gyp, wanting fairness for the chore.
Parked, she did, and muttered, mapping to the target door,
…“Tis the pizza, nothing more.”
And the windows, lit, but faintly, were anything but saintly,
As their ghostly eyes did bid hers, e’en slid hers to the cottage door,
Up the stone where she’d be walking, to the porch where she’d be talking
To some stranger talking business at the cottage door;
Some strange stranger talking business at the cottage door,
…Talking pizza, nothing more.
With a sigh, she reached beside her, got the box that did reside there;
Got the box that held the pizza that had brought her to this door.
Grasped the box and walked quite primly, toward the light that shone so
Toward the light that beckoned grimly from where she’d ne’er been before
Toward the darkened porch that widened as she headed for the door,
…Taking pizza, nothing more.
While the darkness all was hiding, straight ahead dim lights were guiding,
Guiding footsteps up the stone to the gloomy porch and door.
And she held the box quite tightly as she climbed two steps as sprightly
As though the light shone brightly, that dim light by right of door.
And driver stood on darkened porch in front of dim-lit door,
…With a pizza, nothing more.
With a knuckle, gave a tapping; nay!, louder – was a rapping;
Twas a brief hard rapping, rapping at the cottage door.
From dark corner came a loud screech, curdling, not of man’s speech
Louder than a preacher can preach, screamed while she at cottage door.
And in the instant of the screaming, a man flung wide the door.
…Pizza dropped upon the floor.
She, the driver, apoplectic, while the man apologetic,
Hastened in explaining what had happened at the door.
“Twas a bird, when you came tapping, that screamed while you were rapping,
Screamed and screeched when you were rapping at my cottage door.
A macaw that guards my porch and guards my door –
…A macaw and nothing more.
And the man kept on a’ talking about the bird that had been squawking,
The macaw that screeched like zombies at the door.
“She tells me of intruders, would-be salesmen or of looters
I’ve got shotgun for those suitors who would trouble my Lenore.
She sits in porch’s corner as she watches over my door,
…My macaw, by name, Lenore.”
The driver, still quite shaken, fresh now aback was taken
As she palely pondered these new portents at the door.
“Could you be that Edgar Allan since your bird with long sharp talon,
Who screeches by the gallon is the long-lost lass Lenore?
Is the raven never more, with the macaw now at your door,
…Macaw you call Lenore?”
Quickly, he reassured her, hoping that his answer cured her,
That, no, he wasn’t poet Poe; this was no ancient door.
And he hoped that she’d come tapping, soon again be back a’ rapping,
With a pizza come back rapping, rapping at his cottage door,
For he liked the pepperoni and soon would want some more
…For him and for Lenore.
The driver not persuaded, since fright had not yet faded,
Reached down and scraped the pizza off the floor.
And, backing into darkness, her mind quite off of largesse,
E’en that in biggest barges, replied ‘bout returning to his door:
…Quoth the driver, “Nevermore!”
* My daughter did make a pizza delivery one night and was startled by a macaw on the porch. The rest is just me being Poe-etic (with apologies to Edgar Allan from Dennis Allen).
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.