Nita Moore enjoys writing poetry, historical fiction and (now that she’s a grandmother), children’s stories. Professionally, she is owner of Nita Moore Massage Therapy for more than 20 years. Originally from Horicon, daughter Don and Jeanez Miescke, she now lives in Fond du Lac.
Publisher’s note: We are delighted to present for you a poem Old Angus Goes A’Courtin’ a wonderful story by Nita Moore. We will publish weekly installments each Wednesday until complete. Today please enjoy part three …
Old Angus Goes A’Courtin’
© Nita Moore 2019
“You look familiar, have we met before?”
Grace asked the tall stranger coming back to her door.
“Why, yes Ma’am,” he said, “we met at the park —
The Festival of Pies — I gave you high marks
“For that delicious, delectable, perfect peach pie;
A pure slice of heaven, I cannot deny.
“I was hoping to meet you in a more proper way —
Allow me to introduce Mr. Angus McCray.”
He inclined his head then in a neighborly bow
And extended his armload of beans in a towel.
“Well, I’ll be!” declared Grace, “won’t you please be our guest?
You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t look my best.”
A hand flew to her hair as he smiled her way,
“Not at all. Forgive me. I surprised you today.”
Averting her eyes then, she turned to the sink
And put beans to water just so she could think.
In her mind she ran through the pie judges she’d met:
A persnickety woman, a pretentious young chef,
The mayor of Milton, and some dude from the sticks
Who moaned like a heathen while licking his lips —
“We’re having ice cream!” a voice cried near her knee.
“It’s Neo-blob-a-lin! That means all three!
“There’s choc-lit and ‘nilla and star-berry pink.”
“Then give me the works,” the man said with a wink.
“I could go for a treat; a big scoop, if you please!”
Angus peeled off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.
“No need for a suit on a hot day like this.
Why, in all the excitement, I’ve worked up a sweat!
“I must say I’m glad not to have the big beard
I woke up with this morning. Yep, all that’s been sheared!”
His hand absent-mindedly fondled his jaw,
Which was smooth, without question, if not a bit raw.
And Grace, who was tending the beans in the sink,
Snapped around to appraise him quite baldly…and blink.
In a moment, a memory washed over her face —
The scruffnuggin pie judge bestowing First Place!
Oh, it just couldn’t be! But she noticed his eyes,
The blazing blue witness of her candid surprise!
The man now before her was cordial and clean,
Save the dampness now blooming at collar and seams.
Gone was the hairy man littered with crumbs,
Who licked at his lips in a litany of hums;
Gone were the gestures of praise to the skies,
From the incoherent gobbling delight of her pies.
Grace looked to the blue ribbon stuck to her fridge,
And back to the blazes beneath his brow ridge.
A dumbfounded gape had parted her lips,
And from her wet hands fell audible drips.
“We’d best mop that spot before anyone slips.”
He spoke nonchalantly, breaking her trance,
And he stooped to divert the capering prance
Of the sweet little fairy from Neo-blob-a-lin Land.
“You’ll lovethis!” she crowed over the dish in her hand.
“Oh, now there’s a treat! I thank you, my dear,”
The man said with relish…and a mischievous leer.
“Do I get a spoon? Or must I lick?”
The girl squealed with delight — and then quicker than quick —
Two spoons appeared like a magic trick!
to be continued …