MystyrMystyry
03-01-2011, 12:37 AM
Pulling up at the
service station
After three hours
solid driving
Is relief
through change
I get out of
my '69 Bug
To look
around the
Joint 'cause
sometimes
Self-service
is the only thing
On offer
Quiet place
I think to
Myself as the
shutters are
Drawn in every
building up and
Down the main
street - very
Quiet place
indeed
I wander into
the station
To find the
owner asleep
At the counter
Hullo, I nudge
him Hullo but
No response
so I figure that
I'll fill up anyway
but first a can of
Cola of some
obscure brand
The bowser seems
slow to wake - no
Tension in the hose
but slowly it comes
To life - as does
Sleepy town
Shutters open
and noise erupts
From the saloon
heads peep out
From windows
though only from
The corner of
my eye
Hey stranger
comes a voice from
Behind - the old
dude had roused
Oh - Good day
I reply a little
Off my guard
I tried to wake you-
Where ya from?
he interrupts
And I am a mite
slow to respond
Capital City I
manage to point
The direction
I had come
You came that way?
he peers quizzically
From down this road?
from Capital City?
Er yeah from there
I suspect he'd
Been boozing and
convincing himself
He was alert in
an odd way known
Only to the drunk
You can't have come-
not from that way sir-
There is nothing that way
not since not since
What? I replied in a
manner untoward
What are you saying?
explain yourself old man
Tell me why there's
nothing - nothing that way
Not since the bridge
collapsed nigh those
Twenty years ago
not since then...
But I crossed the bridge
I told him - I crossed it
Just before - crossed it in
my beat-up Beetle - what more?
So many lives were lost
his voice it seems to fade
I hear those screams at
midnight from far across
The glade - and always
always in my mind I wonder
How! How to stop the thunder
Or perhaps what I should
have done - to reverse the blunder
That drove those families down
that drove them all asunder
Ooookay, I say - how much?
A full tank would be what -
Fifty? Sixty? Sixtyfive?
Yeah, he nods - to get you driving
- whilst you're still alive...
At this he bursts out laughing
an actual cackle to be sure
His head it starts to rattle
and it falls upon the floor!
Then the townsfolk all emerge
though in full view this time
And they wave their bony arms
in an eldritch unison rhyme
They're dead these people!
these are the ghosts of the
Disaster! Of course I deign to
leave - cannot do it any faster!
In my wagon I leap, and slam
the pedal to the floorboard
Up the main street past the
waving horrors, toward the Parish
Of The Lord - but the skeletal
apparitions swarm out before me
Seeking to block my aim
so I fang a blunt u-turn and
Return the way I came
I swerve and weave around them
for they have merely caused me fear
And for all I know they intend no harm
but I'd prefer my conscience clear
I speed past the shops and
houses til I'm safely out of reach
I check my GPS for assistance and
the distance to the nearest beach
Shortly though the gas gauge
drops - Empty! and the engine starts to
Choke - Damn that I had made that stop!
Damn them to Hell those bony folk!
I reach deep into my pocket for
my cellphone and thence attempt to
make a call, to explain that I'm stuck alone
but they don't want to answer at all!
I leave my Bug and stumble forward
toward the bridge I go
My footsteps are all awkward and it takes
some time you know
What transpired this morning? How did I
arrive at that forsaken place?
How have the townsfolk adapted to a life
beyond our time and space?
The canyon looms ahead, a hazy shade
of blue, and soon I'll be on the other side
Far away from Skew (the name of the town
and appropriate) and closer to home to boot
But now I espy a problem and it has to do
with the bridge - the bridge is out!
How could this be - I crossed it just this morn
don't tell me the bony old man-
My brain is racing my thoughts are flying
my hands are trembling - the truth is I...
I am amongst them - I am one of those dead
those lost souls who recreate the fateful day
And I am doomed as they, as I see my tatters
are covered in sticky blood and red
They were welcoming me home, my friends
as they must have done before, how many
Times to mark the day it had happened
twenty in a score
And now I recall the catastrophe and I must
leave
once
more
service station
After three hours
solid driving
Is relief
through change
I get out of
my '69 Bug
To look
around the
Joint 'cause
sometimes
Self-service
is the only thing
On offer
Quiet place
I think to
Myself as the
shutters are
Drawn in every
building up and
Down the main
street - very
Quiet place
indeed
I wander into
the station
To find the
owner asleep
At the counter
Hullo, I nudge
him Hullo but
No response
so I figure that
I'll fill up anyway
but first a can of
Cola of some
obscure brand
The bowser seems
slow to wake - no
Tension in the hose
but slowly it comes
To life - as does
Sleepy town
Shutters open
and noise erupts
From the saloon
heads peep out
From windows
though only from
The corner of
my eye
Hey stranger
comes a voice from
Behind - the old
dude had roused
Oh - Good day
I reply a little
Off my guard
I tried to wake you-
Where ya from?
he interrupts
And I am a mite
slow to respond
Capital City I
manage to point
The direction
I had come
You came that way?
he peers quizzically
From down this road?
from Capital City?
Er yeah from there
I suspect he'd
Been boozing and
convincing himself
He was alert in
an odd way known
Only to the drunk
You can't have come-
not from that way sir-
There is nothing that way
not since not since
What? I replied in a
manner untoward
What are you saying?
explain yourself old man
Tell me why there's
nothing - nothing that way
Not since the bridge
collapsed nigh those
Twenty years ago
not since then...
But I crossed the bridge
I told him - I crossed it
Just before - crossed it in
my beat-up Beetle - what more?
So many lives were lost
his voice it seems to fade
I hear those screams at
midnight from far across
The glade - and always
always in my mind I wonder
How! How to stop the thunder
Or perhaps what I should
have done - to reverse the blunder
That drove those families down
that drove them all asunder
Ooookay, I say - how much?
A full tank would be what -
Fifty? Sixty? Sixtyfive?
Yeah, he nods - to get you driving
- whilst you're still alive...
At this he bursts out laughing
an actual cackle to be sure
His head it starts to rattle
and it falls upon the floor!
Then the townsfolk all emerge
though in full view this time
And they wave their bony arms
in an eldritch unison rhyme
They're dead these people!
these are the ghosts of the
Disaster! Of course I deign to
leave - cannot do it any faster!
In my wagon I leap, and slam
the pedal to the floorboard
Up the main street past the
waving horrors, toward the Parish
Of The Lord - but the skeletal
apparitions swarm out before me
Seeking to block my aim
so I fang a blunt u-turn and
Return the way I came
I swerve and weave around them
for they have merely caused me fear
And for all I know they intend no harm
but I'd prefer my conscience clear
I speed past the shops and
houses til I'm safely out of reach
I check my GPS for assistance and
the distance to the nearest beach
Shortly though the gas gauge
drops - Empty! and the engine starts to
Choke - Damn that I had made that stop!
Damn them to Hell those bony folk!
I reach deep into my pocket for
my cellphone and thence attempt to
make a call, to explain that I'm stuck alone
but they don't want to answer at all!
I leave my Bug and stumble forward
toward the bridge I go
My footsteps are all awkward and it takes
some time you know
What transpired this morning? How did I
arrive at that forsaken place?
How have the townsfolk adapted to a life
beyond our time and space?
The canyon looms ahead, a hazy shade
of blue, and soon I'll be on the other side
Far away from Skew (the name of the town
and appropriate) and closer to home to boot
But now I espy a problem and it has to do
with the bridge - the bridge is out!
How could this be - I crossed it just this morn
don't tell me the bony old man-
My brain is racing my thoughts are flying
my hands are trembling - the truth is I...
I am amongst them - I am one of those dead
those lost souls who recreate the fateful day
And I am doomed as they, as I see my tatters
are covered in sticky blood and red
They were welcoming me home, my friends
as they must have done before, how many
Times to mark the day it had happened
twenty in a score
And now I recall the catastrophe and I must
leave
once
more