Anonymous
- Kelly Michelle Thomas
- Aug 21
- 3 min read
The night was young and so was the decade.
In the heart of New York City—early 1920s.
Where the parties were grand and streets never hungry
for they were full of life with people dressed in money.
The women, free with flare bedazzled in jewels roaming in pairs
as their chain smoked laughters lingered and longed through the air.
The men, sharp with edge dressed and dapper seeking revenge
as forbidden malt liquor lingered and longed on their breaths.
In the heart of this city, there was man.
A man with a face much too pretty, but eyes empty and dead.
He showed no emotions—not even for pretend.
He spoke only with single words or short sadistic phrases.
A crime lord rumrunner who never reveals what his name is...
A man named Anonymous.
Anonymous was a man with taste and class that always wore
a pinstriped suit with a pocket watch clipped to his vest.
His hair dark slicked back and parted to the side
that brought out his features enhancing his strong jawline.
The pocket watch broken, but never was used to tell time
and only twice a day was it right at eleven o’ nine.
He shared his intimate nights with a woman named Ruth.
A beautiful young starlet who sang jazz and blues.
Night after night he would watch her sing at all the speakeasies
and night after night he’d take her home for loving and pleasing.
She never knew his name, she called him Nony for short.
She loved him more than anything, more than her heart could support.
Ruth sat at her vanity, clutching her pearls gazing into her reflection.
In the corner she saw Nony, standing naked not paying attention.
She snapped her pearls, each one bouncing uncontrollably
as her eyes welted up and she began to sob inconsolably,
“My dear Nony, we have made love well over a hundred times
I remember each and every night.
You have yet to tell me you love me
and in your sleep you speak of another’s name, Caroline.
Who is she? Who is this other woman on your mind?
Don’t you think I deserve to know? Tell me!
It is because of you my heart is turning to stone!”
Anonymous with his stoic expression
grabbed his broken pocket watch as he was dressing,
“You don’t ever speak of her name.
I don’t have to tell you anything and for that
I have no shame. You can go if you must,
come back when you want to fuck
But understand Ruth, with me there will never be love.”
Sobbing, Ruth grabbed her bags and went for the door
as each single pearl continued to roll around all over the floor.
Her throat choked up, she could not speak anymore words.
She looked at him, he paid no attention as the door knob turned,
then slamming it shut in disbelief at what had occurred.
Anonymous slowly sat onto the bed.
His stoic expression fading into an agonizing one instead.
His eyes started glistening as he sat alone thinking and reminiscing
of the woman named Caroline—he once called his wife.
Pregnant with his son, died from the flu as he was fighting in WW1.
He never forgot the time, he then looked at his pocket watch...
It was eleven o’ nine.
“I’ve killed many men, but God took her,
when I’m the one deserving of death.”
And with those words, Anonymous wept and tears rolled
from his eyes, down his cheek, pouring onto the floor.
Wondering why death won’t come knocking onto his door.
© Kelly Michelle Thomas. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author. This poem was originally part of NYCMidnight Rhyming Story Challenge. The challenge was to write a story with the theme/genre/emotion assigned to each group of writers with a word count limited to 600. For this story, my group was assigned snazzy/historical fiction/tearful.
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