Old Mill Town Lake

In the mist, down a lane, off the well beaten path,

through the weeds, to the dark water’s edge.

Two shadows emerge, draped in netting and wire,

despair and hope hanging low in their nets.

*

An old fishing pole strapped to the back of a boat,

with a waterlogged watch, to keep time.

In their bags hides the truth that they’ve hidden away,

the lake will help them to cover their crimes.

*

They are gritty and grimy keeping eyes and heads low,

as they maneuver the bags from the dirt.

They grumble and moan as the bags hit the ground,

signs of blood revealing someone’s been hurt.

*

It is damp and it’s dark, there’s a chill in the air,

shadows in the darkness, welcome them back.

For too many times has nature witnessed the same,

things go in, but never return from these sacks.

The haze like a coat, embraces the lake,

the mist envelopes the shore.

After 3 or 4 trips they settle in on the seats,

this old boat cannot hold anymore...

*

The oar cuts its way through the water,

the gentle sweet swoosh of the waves.

As it washes over the hull of the boat,

you’ve come too far now to be saved.

*

Collected in bags like a purchase,

a collage of flesh, blood-and cut bones.

Tied off with some twine and gray duct tape,

they add to your remains some large stones.

Insurance that you aren’t escaping,

for insurance with crisp dollar bills.

Your value was weighed and then measured,

your demise pays for frivolous thrills.

*

While you sink to the deep, dark, cold bottom,

a smorgasbord for the fish and wild things.

Another enjoys your equity of blood sweat and tears,

living it up like prince’s and kings.

*

They are certain that no one will miss you,

you were chosen, picked out from the crowd.

Like a hermit you spent your existence,

away from the bustling crowds.

Easy pickings for those with ill intentions,

intentions to do someone harm.

Made easier as they stalked and trolled you

disconnecting your security alarms.

*

With no one to check up or miss you,

covering their tracks won’t be very hard.

They will do with you what they want to,

then every inch of you they will discard.

*

Like the trash, put out Monday morning,

wipe their hands of you, and walk away.

No regard for the pain you endured,

no compassion for the fear on your face.

*

As you begged for your life, they were laughing,

with every sob, they increased the push.

The best efforts of you- to change their minds,

only served to bring out their worst.

They started with one little finger,

your reaction urged them to press on.

Your ear and a toe came off easy,

till the blood from you, had been withdrawn.

*

Account numbers of savings and checking

IRA’s and annuities too.

They weren’t leaving one part of you whole,

they would take every last thing from you.

*

Once they had everything you could offer,

they opted to finish you off.

Any hope you had of survival,

was the last thing from you they cut off.

*

They didn’t bother to try to clean things up,

they knew no one would come looking at all.

They took you in pieces to the water,

made you more manageable with a saw.

*

In the back of an old Chevy pick-up,

with the trash from the fast food they ate.

Until you reached your final destination,

at the bottom of Old Mill Town Lake.

Now it’s quiet, and you feel yourself floating,

sinking slowly, yet still sinking the same.

It’s unlikely that they’ll ever find you,

unlikely they’ll repeat your name.

*

So, you’re home with your newly found family,

the mist, the haze and the beasts.

One day you will evolve into one of them,

and the next garbage bag is YOUR feast.