The Town Of Indifference... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Oh! That night...the night it stormed,
when the birch woods snapped and fell
in the deep of Jona's Brook
coursing water, black as blood,
as if the soil beneath the ripple
had purged in menstruation
from some trauma deep within.

And rapidly, the waters rose,
by itself, no rain in sight,
'till it approached a nascent merge
divided by a fork-
a manmade split of land
dug in eighteen sixty two,
by soldiers donning gray
and that housed a small family
long asleep now beneath its soil,
where their home stood quietly,
on a healthy lot of land,
between two brooks,
this house built on s plot of land-
between two tranquil streams,
that rode white and feral
in the eye of an August storm,
two streams that converged at a fork,
that became Jonas Brook,

Now, the house was mainly built of pine,
with a pinch of oak...and strangeness,
as surrounding townsfolk swore
Then, one starless night in May,
of year, Eighteen Ninety two
this family, all of three
were slain while in their rooms.

No one knew who could have done it,
No one took the time to care;
they were just an unknown family
who reclused amongst themselves,
and because so, neighbors whispered
unkind thoughts amongst themselves;
assumptive notions amongst themselves,
vulgar tongued scenarios... amongst themselves.
And because so, over time and talk
they drew fear amongst themselves.

And, thus, when they heard the news,
instead of rue or sorrow,
they smiled amongst themselves,
breathed fresh air among themselves,
Three days and nights of waking
quarters placed upon six eyes,
while one-hundred pounds of dry ice
from Kasman's Country Store
kept each of the three bodies
from riga's hideous sight
as well as its dreadful stench.

On Day four there was a service
held at the funeral parlor,
to allow for words be said
by family, or any mourners
who felt compelled to do so.
There were no words spoken,
for mourners, there were none,
the family was dead,
and after the echo
of a clearing throat,
a Minister addressed a group of chairs,
each and one of them empty...ALL!
He spoke of all he'd researched
an hour before arriving.

Six scores of years have passed
and to this day, nobody knows
the who's and why's about
the slaying on Jona's Brook,
and no one ever will,
because no one really cared.
And, how do I know this?
Stop, and consider this:
Everybody knows the name of the Brook,
but what was the name of the family?
Exactly!


Frank James Ryan Jr/FjR
All Rights Reserved MMXV