Wednesday, September 21, 2016

GAMES


The growling follows us outside
Down the rickety stairs to the beach.
Laughter floats in the howling wind
As hot breath swirls around our necks.
Shadows fly at us on gossamer wings,
Tracking our shaky journey downward.
Darkness hides the beach below,
Sandy cushions await our final fall.
I fly with the wind to land on pillows,
Shaking the pixie dust from my eyes.
I leave Mike and David behind
As I race down the moonlit walkway.
A noose waits for me.
My neck fits perfectly in the hole.
Hooded creatures circle round the gazebo,
An appropriate place for my last stand.
Our games have just begun.
THE DEAD GAME