Eleanor
Wind grows every step we take.
Leafless branches jackets rake.
To doubt our path, I have begun,
may all or progress be undone
by change in weather, storm incoming?
If I weren’t hurt… Would we be running?
He hasn’t yet left me to die.
Clue I haven’t, as to why…
He clearly cannot stand my presence:
like all the humans, me he resents.
Don’t know his name, don’t know his birthplace,
as stranger still, this terrain we face.
But I’m all good with perfect quiet…
Some gorge on words, I’m known to diet.
And as we through last bushes worm,
I see was wrong my fear of storm.
We freeze right there, stop moving forward,
all this time we had moved shoreward.
Extends before us mighty sight,
as we stand, half mile of height
above a blue and endless sea,
fall into which would certainly,
end our lives - so pulls us he,
back few steps, where safe we’ll be.
We share a look, amazement filled.
Blood pumps faster, hearth is thrilled.
And back we look on sea unending,
it’s beauty proving quite mind-bending.
But long we cannot stay spellbound,
for interrupts us curious sound.
Not wind, not sea, not nature’s music,
but thump and thump that may make you sick.
What humans made and DJs played,
popstars sing and get well paid.
Immediately my head turns rightward,
and I cannot find the right word!
I see a car, half off the cliff,
and on its roof a body stiff…
‘Look!’ I shout, and point her way,
to the girl on car who lay.
He looks, and read I can his mind:
Our way to her we’ll have to find.
So, back into the bush we go,
But lastly where to head we know.
Jackson
Through the thick, another hour!
Mood is swinging, turns more sour.
To find the car turned out complex,
thorns drew blood on muscles flexed.
Girl is huffing, and devour,
all my strength, all my power,
has this grueling extra task,
which some could say ‘too much to ask’:
dragging through these ruthless grounds,
this little girl of eighty pounds.
Finally, trees start to clear,
the bug Volkswagen reappear.
But too early still to cheer,
if true is what I now most fear.
What if no one camping here,
to take this girl will volunteer?
I leave the girl on rock to sit,
and on move forward just a bit.
My jacket flops in wind, and hair
blows left and right and who knows where,
as hands I use to amplify
my voice, as her to reach I try:
the girl who’s laying on the roof…
Must be alive! Show me proof!
But she moves not single muscle.
Could be dead, could be the tussle
between my voice, the music, wind,
that leaves her still to car-roof pinned.
Dare I move to close the distance?
If dead she doesn’t need assistance?
This brittle rock and wind however,
could put quick end to this endeavor!
But ponder can I not for long.
Halfway through some lousy song,
the girl strikes wake and off she slides,
from her yellow beetle ride.
She turns and watches, without panic,
as her car, just like Titanic,
tilts, and then into the sea,
plummets, turns into debris.
I stand, dumbfounded,
heart drum sounded.
She turns to me, her face in glee…
Was she waiting just to see
this go down?
Her car to drown?
She calls at me and takes a bow:
‘Aren’t you glad you caught the show?’
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