David Chislett
2 min readJan 25, 2021
Image author’s own

They were busy when I entered the room

A collection of half men

From high school

Primary school

Some from work

I can’t see what they are doing

Or hear what they are saying

As I approach

They recede into the gloom

Suddenly I’m at the bar

Drinking whiskey

One of the half-men is at my elbow


I can’t hear what he is saying

Then he’s gone

The bar brightly lit, clean

Like I nodded off and got cleaned up around

But the murmuring of the huddle persists

I cannot see where it is from

A passage behind the bar

Leads me downstairs in the dark

Until I burst upon them again

They scatter screaming mutely

Terrified by my appearance

Turning to run

My way is blocked by a wall of schoolboys

With striped red and black ties

Suffocating me with their silent regard

Behind me the gaping silence of the men

This is the hall of my memory

Where everything I know

Has gone to die

I recognise

The mutterings as prayer

The men as all my dearly departed friends

Fading, become less

The longer I survive them

Just as I find the right words to say

I awake in the darkness

With rain falling outside


Still not knowing why.

David Chislett

I believe we are all creative. I use my experience — poet, musician, trainer— & the latest research into creativity to help you discover yours