Fog Walking
Fog so thick that one could almost…
Part it with one’s finger
Enter into where dwell ghosts
And mayhaps worse might linger
Just a few paces and familiar things
Cease to exist
So few traces that memory brings
Penetrates the mist
Bearings lost, in droplets tossed
Rain that ne’er touches the ground
But floats about, like frosted floss
And about me doth surround
Hands before me groping reaching
Sound smothered in gray cotton
Colours fade like dye leaching
From clothes old and rotten
My mind had visions
Of a pleasant walk in the fog
Not frightful frissons
As bristled hair on a dog
Before me…Now!
Looming…rearing!!
Dark shape…The prow
Of a great ship appearing!
My heart was paralyzed
My mind thrown for a loop!
Til I took reckon and realized
‘Twas my own house and back stoop
Seemed a jolly good idea, brash and fine
A jaunty walk-about all fine and dandy
But I think a better idea (next time)
Is to look at the fog from out the window
Recline in my chair…and sip brandy
Copyright © David O'Haolin Whalen | Year Posted 2013
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