David Whalen
Covington Kentucky

Fog Walking

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Fog so thick that one could almost…
Part it with one’s finger
Enter into where dwell ghosts
And mayhaps worse might linger

Just a few paces and familiar things
Cease to exist

So few traces that memory brings
Penetrates the mist

Bearings lost, in droplets tossed
Rain that ne’er touches the ground

But floats about, like frosted floss
And about me doth surround

Hands before me groping reaching
Sound smothered in gray cotton

Colours fade like dye leaching
From clothes old and rotten

My mind had visions
Of a pleasant walk in the fog

Not frightful frissons
As bristled hair on a dog

Before me…Now!
Looming…rearing! !

Dark shape…The prow
Of a great ship appearing!

My heart was paralyzed
My mind thrown for a loop!

Til I took reckon and realized
‘Twas my own house and back stoop

Seemed a jolly good idea, brash and fine
A jaunty walk-about all fine and dandy

But I think a better idea (next time)
Is to look at the fog from out the window

Recline in my chair…and sip brandy


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Saturday, November 23, 2013
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