Every week I write a short story. Here's the one from this week. To view the short story, please click on the Read More button

                            

MY FATHERS ANTIQUE SHOP

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine.

Sometimes I worked behind the counter

Dealing quarters nickels and dimes.

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine

People came from all over

To stand and wait in line.

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine.

One day a masked man came in the shop

It was clear he had had too much wine.

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine.

The drunken man said he would burn the place to the ground

Claiming that it was time.

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine.

Then the masked man lit a torch

Made from wood and twine.

My father named Philbert ran an antique shop

In the town of West Brine.

The man threw the torch to the floor

In the shop that would soon be mine.

The masked man removed his mask

In the middle of the fire and flame

He turned to me and said, Yo kid it’s your father

And Philbert is my name.