Lords Valley, Dingmans Ferry

55,

60,

65,

70, 

75 miles per hour

Hitting the gas

Looking in the rear view mirror

Side view

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear

Running like an outlaw

Like a gang leader from yesterday

Robbing stagecoaches 

Hands up at the bank

Locomotive halted

She spun around

Like a spider mother in her web

Creep down the staircase to the basement

Nothing but the faceless and forgotten

Skin so intricately removed

Forgot the prints

And had a driving pint

Draw the curtains

Pick up the mail

Close the refrigerator door

Plow the driveway

I kept my foot on the pedal

No looking back

Speed set steady

Remembering shady lane yesterday

Buried

Excavated up at the range

Quarter past eight

Officer knocked at the door

I once was a murderer

Now I’m clean of my sins

Admitted in writing

Innocent like a naked boy frolicking on the hillside

Exit here, make a left turn

© 2024 David Greg Harth

24.12.26.13.00.12.12@739PA