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“Route 66” (Part 2)


The Wicked Old Witch stalked her, flying above 
on her revved up battered old  Peugeot Stick made from 
twigs and oderous putrifying brown crud.
Up to this point all silent, the ugly old hag now cackled her passive abuse, 
“You may have those Red Shoes Dot, but what matters to me you dim-witted dove,
is that, I now possess forever,
what you truly “most” Love.

Dot was dying bit by bit from the inside, but her fierce Warrior Spirit, 
kept her soul burning with pride, 
her head held up high, 
however, at this point in the story, she wished she had a big gun loaded 
with sharp deadly bullets of Bromargyrite.

Dot ignored the covetous old hag, pitied her, that much can be said, 
you see, her brother the mindless Scarecrow, was bolted up tight, locked in a cold Tin Shed -
(punishment, his crime: “no brain in his head”);
Dot continued to soldier on forward, 
kept up her Warrior’s stride 
and thought of the moral  in that story about one’s own bed,
there was nowhere to hide.
Dot now thought to look down at her magic sparkling shoes,
Ruby Red,
thought clicking them twice but what was the point, 
all that was Home was now dead.

Dot took her eyes off her feet, with eyes now open wide,
she stood stock still, she noticed with pure horror, 
clearly understood -
Toto, whom she loved “Most” of all 
was missing, no more by her side, 
nowhere to be seen
in this dark nightmarish neighbourhood.

A Lion came out of nowhere emerged from the mist,
Somewhere a tawny owl hooted “Who? Who? Is this now a tryst?”

He was holding his tail and a deck of Queens Slippers,
He purred ever so nicely, “Where to now Missus? 
I’ve got your back. I’ll stay true.”
“How hard can that be,” he thought, “to dissolve all of her indigo blues?” 

Somewhere in the background all foggy 
but right on track,
ACDC was playing, that song, 
you know the one,
“The Jack”.

(Lovejoy-Burton/Dec 2017)
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