Something in the water

[Keith]

Only dogs could hear the crunch
of loose stone
and the hiss of air-brakes
swinging in off the bypass,
curtain sided carrier
of substances unknown.

Fat George brushed cake crumbs
from his “keep on truckin” tee shirt
and drained the last dregs
from his coffee stained flask.
He liked to work alone
wallowing in the cabs clutter,
paper work became fresh floor mats,
delivery note were used as plates
for hot buttered transport cafe toast.

Two drums he had to drop
no label’s, no questions for cash
just the way he liked it.
A delightful spot
above the village beside a beck.

The drum rolled down Easter egg hill
splitting as it hit the tree lined hedge,
contents glugged like eels into the grass,
soaking the substrate,
slithering soluble into the water course.

The surface of the village pond
broke with fissures,
bleeding silver under a sharp black sky.
The capsized eyes begged the moon
and cried a chemical curse.

Another late night drop
George was nervous
the night so bright brought caution
and irritation,
he snatched at the last drum
and slipped.

Pinned by his unsecured load
a scream crossed sheep covered fields
dropping distant to the ear of a working dog
tired from the days obedience,
it growled quite in its bed.

Acid claimed his face and chest
eating flesh,
one eye survived longer
than his windpipe.

As he thrashed the damp night air
in to his veins
clouds swam like fishes
to their mother the moon,
shadows returning to darker pools
streaking down empty streets
crossing farm house rugs and rooftops
spilling over sleeping dogs.