Reference: The Sleepers, Walt Whitman

Sitting by the tracks,
Skinny Puppy on the
stereo, I can’t help but
think about that bridge …

A light fog settles in, a
little at a time, driving
into the town …

… Clifton.

I could walk up the tracks,
but the night is still early.
Then again, I could just
turn this truck around and
head back down the road …

… Clifton Road
Pope’s Head …

But the remnants no longer
stand. Expensive homes now
sit where stables once stood.
I wonder, do those families
know …

… what happened there?

The energy has dissipated now,
of course. But I do remember
the day we ventured up there
to take a look.

All that was left of the house was
a piece of wrought iron … even
sitting in the sun on a hot Summer’s
day, it was cold to the touch.

The open garage still stood back then.
Littered with old license plates and
books with recorded dates. This horse
died on this day, another was born
on that day.

They say he murdered his family,
wife and kids.



Odd noises …

Perhaps Skinny Puppy is NOT
the best choice right now next
to the tracks …

Perhaps I should venture inside …

Ahh, but Night calls! Samhain just
around the bend and the mists beckon
me. I wonder, will there be a train
this late?

A train barrels by, Amtrak. Looks
like VRE. I wonder if those folks
know where they are … what they
might face up the way.

Maybe I will see him! But I hope not.
I know what lurks these parts … It’s
evil I tell ya!

A crescent Moon hangs low on the
horizon, blocked out by the trees. Thus
adding to the unease …

Nervous …
… what was that?!?
The truck just jerked …

This should make for an interesting
therapy session, to say the least.

Another train … leaving me to wonder
if the Bunnyman’s been run over again.
That bridge … just a little ways up
yonder there. During the day, maybe.

Don’t think I’ll be reading The Sleepers
this evening …

Okay, inside I go!