Ronald Bingham | + Follow Poet |
Narrative | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

The Drive

As the fog thickens like soup,
    Driving down this old country highway in this old worn out old coupe.
Trying to make up lost time has got my old nerves tied up in a ball.
    When right in front of me stands this big old buck deer, I slam on my brakes, 
my tires start to squall.
The deer breaks and runs just barely in time,
    As I skid right on by just barely brush his behind.
Talk about luck he’s riding shotgun tonight and I just locked his door.
    Well I decide it’s time to push it just a little bit more.
The hour is quite late and I doubt any cops are about.
    So I decide to test this old engine to see if it is still stout.
The accelerator to the floor and I’m still wanting more.
    Well that’s all she’s got as I ease it off of the floor.
I don’t know what happened maybe an adrenaline rush as I regained control.
    Kind of a spooky night like something is after my soul.
Well I shake off that thought and then the fog starts to thicken again.
    When there in the road I swear it looks like the same old deer my friend.
Everything that happens is exactly as before. 
     I look at my clock, a quarter till four, what’s happening, I’m living this same 
nightmare once more.
What’s going on and I’m starting to freak.
     My heart is beating so fast I can’t seem to speak.
I decide to stop but this doesn’t look like a very good place.
    When there in the road a man is standing and he is missing his face.
 From out of the darkness more figures I see.
    When there right beside me I hear this noise it’s buzzing at me.
And something grabs hold of me and just won’t let go.
    It shakes and it shakes then I hear a voice you better get up time for the show.
I sure hate to admit it but I’m sure glad this was a dream.
    Cause I sure wouldn’t want that guy with no face on my team.

Please Login to post a comment