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The Barn
By
Rusty Broadspear
The barn spotted me first, through the drizzle.
Orange glowing eyes, six of ‘em, through the trees.
Shaieete!! It looked awesome, friendly, scary.
Used to be a better place, but that’s life’s trapeze.
Took us some trekkin’ t’get ta that old barn,
Hills, holes, traps, nature’s natural defences.
Back pack was a’hurtin’ so I dropped it and saw a draieeeeve.
Shaieete!! Black top for miles – ooooh! How time condenses.
‘N’ orange lights, ‘n’ cleeeeeoned minture trees
All spaced out, (like me), for some praieeevate road.
Darned paeillars ‘n’ a porch for a WHAIeeete front door!
Hell – used t’torture folk in thayer ‘specially when it snowed
So went back for m’bag, ‘n’ singin’ ‘No Place Like Home’
Staggrin’ ‘n’ ‘a’stumblin ‘ towards the whaieeete front door,
I spat ‘n’ smoked, coughed, staggered ‘n’ choked.
The barn was ‘ost to six limowseenzes, I stopped ‘n’ picked up my jaw.
Back on the street, rubbin’ my feet
‘N’ beggin’ from all that come by.
I think of that barn and think darn!
Think where has it gohw’n?
Where is everywoh’n?
Nothing left now
My head hits the pavement
And f’r the first time in my laahfe
I cry.
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