NaPM April 02 2016

[just mercedes]

Two roads converged

Two roads converged where a fellow stood
and my lorry's brakes – such rotten luck –
failed as only big lorry brakes could
on a blind corner in a moonlit wood
and I drove the  bastard  into the muck;
 
then rapidly parking in neutral gear
I gathered him up, now dismembered.
His face though, looked no worse for wear,
showing no final look of fear:
like his last thoughts were of joy remembered.
 
The moon fell on the eglantine
elegantly, as I scurried around
to dig a hole and throw him in
then slosh about some gasoline –
and then I heard the baleful sound
 
of approaching cars. Tossing in the pool
my match, I rigged a spit of sorts,
barbecuing like a tool.
Drivers swerved, called me a fool,
and threatened me with the law of torts.

I say this now with some despair
somewhere, in the forests sable
I roasted a man in the open air
and the taste was agreeable