On my way to the barbeque

On my way to the barbeque

 

Driving over the hill
past the oak tree
from which a friend was once hanged,

 

I wake a shadowy black mass
from his gory feeding frenzy,

 

a vicious stray cur who sucks

warm death from the asphalt.

 

demonic yellow eyes rise to dominate

my sickened blue stare

and an unfriendly grin caked

with remains backhands my soul

 

like the last page of an old Irish folktale

in which the most beloved characters die.

Reviews

[Kerry O'Connor]

The final two lines just make this poem - such a counter-point to the other lines.

[Robin]

man .. reminds me of the silent memorials and the ghosts who inhabit them I pass by daily ...

[Deactivated_BurningDemo..]

I loved this, twisted and dark. Great!