The Sunday Whirl’s wordle #27, http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wordle-27/, contained the words: rusted-out, nods, beginning, glaze, stretched, ragged, straighten, rolling, bridges, clouds, blade, and drag. Because it’s so close to Halloween, I let my imagination run wild.
SINGING ON MURKLE
by Mike Patrick
How did it begin?
It didn’t begin—not with me,
but I’ll tell you how it is
’cause you blokes got it all crooked.
It started seven years ago this Halloween,
but you coppers bloody well know that.
You the ones caught the cases.
From me home
in that rusted-out tool shed on Murkle Drive,
I heard this bloke,
tippin’ down the sidewalk, he was.
He had a bottle in his hand and he was singing.
Singing on Murkle!
Murkle ain’t no place for singing,
and it bloody well ain’t no place for the gentry.
Every boarded up, firebombed building
holds a thug, and an addict nods in every stairway.
Murkle is a place where possessing a shilling
will buy a blade slicing through your throat.
That’s the way it was supposed to go with this bloke.
I snuck close, pulled me knife
and waited, hid in a bush.
‘Fore he got to me,
he upended like;
lit on his back with a thump.
He thrashed about for a sec,
then I saw . . . something dragging him.
A gray something, flickering in an’ out
of the moonlight, moving fast.
Me blood ran cold, I’m tellin’ you.
It leaned over him for a second
then vanished into the dark.
The bloke lay on the sidewalk.
There was a gurgle,
and he rolled into the gutter.
I waited, oh I waited
until I was sure that gray thing was gone.
Then I snuck up and looked.
He lay there with his throat ripped out.
It was funny-like,
them eyes was looking up at the ragged clouds
crossin’ the face of the moon,
but they was glazed over,
they wasn’t seein’ nothin’.
I glommed his watch, money and bottle,
no use lettin’ em go to waste,
and dumped his body between the twin bridges.
Now you coppers got me
with blood on my hands tonight,
but I never carved that girl,
nor any them others
stretched over seven Halloweens.
I just kept hidin’ in that same bush
and let that thing do the work.
I got that girl’s bracelet tonight,
and I’ll do me time,
but I’m tellin’ you,
I’ll sleep better in the clink,
than on Murkle Drive.
I know that thing is still out there.