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The Storm Water Pipe
The storm water pipe
gaped into open air
from an embankment
where it surfaced
from underground.
The opening was a little
smaller than my childhood height
and they said it stretched
a mile or more but nobody
knew for sure.
A danger sign warned
against entry saying
the pipe was subject to sudden
flooding - a protective grate
had a hole big enough
to crawl through.
I would pause
at its mouth and stare
into a claustrophobic dark.
Hunched, heart racing,
I monkey walked
my way in, listening out
for water, breathing in
the dank air. Deeper
and deeper I would go until
courage left me when
the light from the entrance
faded and all went black.
Hell was there.
It still is.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
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