A Tale

by Ernest Armah

Incredible blues, crippling truths

Were all spelt in his sight


He folded his hands into a bench upon which his chin sat

Attentive, ever-ready to be swept away by this fine lady’s tale

His heart was wide awake

Prepared to consummated by the jolt of words

Yet to be said, yet to be heard.

He looks at her like a stranger

Though their lips have met before

Perhaps familiarity not only breed contempt

For if a man seen by many as a gentleman

And a woman seen by many as a lady

Can be so insane in the sight of each other

To even haul unbearable longings….hush.

Would he ever allow her to tell the tale

Or would continue constructing sentences ahead like a road in his mind

For her speech to ride on

Could he be man enough to look into her eyes?

And tell her how tired he is of being an audience

How much he desires to be a character again in the tale?

A wave of nostalgia envelopes him.