Going Out...

‘I’m just going down for cigarettes,’

Tom called to his wife, Marie,

Her voice was muffled as she called back

From the depths of the old laundry,

‘You’d better bring back a carton of milk,

I gave the last to the cat,’

And that was the last thing that he heard

As he thought: ‘Okay, that’s that!’

 

He backed the car from out of the drive

It was just on six o’clock,

The sun was starting to drop in the sky

And the glare was over the top,

He cursed as he pulled the sunshield down,

He should have gone down before,

But hadn’t been able to take his eyes

From the burgeoning cricket score.

 

The shop was seven kilometres

From the cottage at Dyson’s Well,

The traffic was usually thick out there

With commuters from Narrabel,

He checked his mirror, back up the road

But there wasn’t a car in sight,

Not even a stray pedestrian

As the sun dipped down for the night.

 

He passed the pub with its gaming lights

There wasn’t a car outside,

Continued down to the supermart

Where its doors were open wide,

His was the only car in the park

And an ominous silence fell,

As he walked through into the supermart,

There was no-one there, as well.

 

The place was empty, the lanes were clear

As he wandered along each aisle,

He wondered, where were the checkout girls?

Where was old Billy Style?

The manager usually stood at the front

Of the store, but where was he at?

Down on the counter, where he stood

Was the manager’s battered hat.

 

The fridges hummed and the lights were bright

When he went to collect the milk,

Then made his way to the checkout

For a packet of Rothman’s Silk,

The locks were on the tobacco, so

He called at the top of his voice:

‘Do I have to serve myself tonight,

Or shall I just walk? Your choice!’

 

His voice rang out but was swallowed up

In the vastness of that space,

He walked outside and he looked around

Came back, and started to pace,

He leapt the counter and squeezed one out

Through the bars that had locked them down,

If ever he needed a cigarette

He told himself, it was now!

 

He drove the length of the road and turned,

Weaved in and out of the street,

The lights were on in the Take-Away

He thought he’d get something to eat,

The fat was hot in the fryer there

But the chips were burnt and black,

Wherever old Elsie Stark had gone

She wouldn’t be coming back.

 

He drove on home like a madman, broke

The limit for seven k’s,

Raced on in through the cottage door

It had seen far better days,

For cobwebs hung from the ceiling,

There was mildew down on the floor,

And there in the silver coffee pot

Was an inch of mould, or more.

 

He walked on out to the laundry

Full of dread for his wife Marie,

She didn’t answer his call, but all

The washing was there to see,

It sat, still up in the dryer

But the dryer was rusty and blown,

He staggered out in the garden, but

The garden was overgrown.

 

Marie had cried for a fortnight

Then had lived on her own for years,

‘I don’t know what had got into him,

But Tom, he was so perverse!’

She told the story a hundred times

And what it was all about,

‘He said he wanted some cigarettes,

He said he was ‘Going Out!’’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Jack...]

Very descriptive and surreal as if I have been running through a maze only to find that there never was any cheese. Nice meter and rhyme flow through this piece though who is left to notice. I might have read this, but sorry mate, need to run out for some smokes. Keep the poem warm, I shan't be a minute.

Very cool indeed.

[Valentine]

Another capital idea blossoming into a fabulous tale..I did not expect the ending, I was thinking more of outer world aliens taking the people off ineo space..not that he was lost in space for year..Great one David..love Kathiie

[Acron 4]

I think most poems are time portals, this one is a time portal of a time portal. ya just gotta wonder if all those guys that told there wives they were just going out for a pack of smokes and were never seen again were reading your poem here and then walked into it. Maybe your poem is just a worm hole, and if we think really hard about it while we read it and realize just what a wonderful poem it is and that the rhyme and meter are amazing, if we really think think hard about it we.............................................................................................................

[David Scott]

I think the ones who loose their minds have the easier path. Still, a frightening prospect.
A well told story. Detailed and chilling accuracy.

[Emerald Seas]

What a fun read! I see him stuck in purgatory, or as someone suggests below, plucked by aliens and deposited back ages later. Great story teller in your magnificent poetic style!

[quinfinn]

you know, there are those poets who tell stories and those who just write magnificent verse. you happen to be both. i can always count on an excellent and well told story when i see your name at the credits. just superb, David!

[Enid Blake]

Another eerie tale! Was it a time warp, was it aliens? Don't tell me, I shall go imagine... :)