Possum Branch Road
Cedars whisker the ditch along Possum Branch Road. Such small little fellers, hardly worth calling a tree. Some say haints put a spell on the whole two thousand arcres. Maybe so, maybe not, but leastways, the land wont grow even a decent scrub oak these days. Being mostly swamp, the creepy crawlers infest every rat hole and tuft of wire grass. The old run down Elizabethan house used to be a place of excitement back during reconstruction. It had the latest wood burners you could find in the south. Then the family started dying off- - - one by one. The old cajun Mammie came up with more fixins than you could shake a stick at, but nothing worked. The last one of the family died back in 1923. A marker in the small family grave yard still reads, "Here lies the last of 300 years worth of Deveroux. God save the Queen and these here states." Most of the markers are barely readable now, being so pitted by the weather. As long as Mammy lived, folks would drive their old buggies and rattletrap cars around the place. That's why they's that big bend in the road around it.
Anyways, you don't want a flat tire close to the place at night. There be a strange blue green light coming out from the small grave yard. Some folks say they suddenly had passengers in their back seats if they happened along at the right time. But I say, there ain't no right time for a rotton stranger to show up in your back seat, and not have a word to say. But remember one thing, if you are there at that house and a stranger shows up in the back seat, don't look straight at him. You will go blind for twenty four hours, and your food tastes rotton for a week. It's really bad because you just HAVE to eat somethin'.
So you best just stay off of Possum Branch road, even in the day time. There's folks out there that just ain't right.
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2016
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment