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BLACK BUTTERFLY
POETRY, PROSE AND PAINTINGS
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Mr Brown
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Old I was seven years old when my mum's aunty died and left us the house in the square but I knew from the moment we stepped inside that old Mr. Brown was still there.
A smell of tobacco when none of us smoked an odd cold spot on the stair. "Perhaps it's haunted," my father joked. or maybe Mr. Brown was still there.
We moved in the winter to this neat little house the last little house in the square. It was bright it was clean ,no rat trace or mouse but old Mr Brown was still there.
They had moved to the house many years ago a war widow was mum's aunty Claire. And I can't help wondering did she know that old Mr.Brown was still there.
He wasn't that scary as bogey men go. A shadow, a creek on the stair, a shudder of cold to let every one know that old Mr. Brown was still there.
I thought that I saw him on my way to school I turned back to the window to stare. My sister thought me some kind of fool but I knew Mr. Brown was still there.
I went back to the house some years ago, to the neat little house in the square. But I didn't ask ,I did not want to know if old Mr Brown was still there. |