Jest Sittin’ On The Doorstep (A Poem)

The sun’s gone down ‘til morning’
our game came to an end
we’ll pick it up tomorrow
when start back again.

It seems from now to bedtime
goes by so very fast
we’ll pass the time at omething’
to try to make it last.

We can’t stray very far off
yet close enough to hear
Mom’s call from out the back door,
“You kids – come in from there!”

We’re sittin’ on the doorstep
jest havin’ lots-a fun
my brothers, friends and cousins
an’ Mark, the ‘funny’ one.

He’s great at tellin’ stories
the best you ever heard
‘bout ghosts an’ scary murders
an’ killer vampire-birds.

He tells of how his Pappy
was walkin’ home one night
a headless horseman passed’im
an’ gave ‘im such a fright.

He says that once his uncle
had rocks so stained with blood
no livin’ soul could clean ‘em
despite how hard they rubbed.

For hours Mark would shock us
each better than before
‘til ten o’clock an’ habit
brought Mama to the door.

Well that would end the stories
those tales we loved to hear
we couldn’t sleep for tryin’
from nervousness an’ fear.

Though that was long ago now
yet still I can’t forget
those many happy hours
jest sittin’ on the step.

Footnote: It seemed to us that Aunt Mary’s doorstep was best for sitting and listening to after-dark scary stories.