Stella Darkely

A Lesson from the Mall Man

Let me tell you of a grizzly man
with a long, white cane, thin and tall
he followed me last night, you see
on my stroll home from the mall.

Clenched tight my arms behind my back
‘till naught I saw was red
as the hoarsely grunted in my ear
‘for sunrise, you’ll be begging you were dead.

He led me to a catacomb
of darkness and despair
and with a rusty razor blade
he shaved off all my hair.

Each button from my shirt he plucked
to leave my chest exposed
to have felt such fright, on that night
I would never have supposed

“Beg to die” he crackled
with a gurgle in his breath
then took his razor to my skin-
carved a sculpture from my chest.

My screams rose high, as the blade drove deep
and scraped against the bone
but no one came to rescue me
indeed, we were alone

Stabbing once... twice... thrice!
then slit me helm to stern
my lungs filled up with fluid as
my bowels began to churn.

My guts spilled out across my knees
life flashed before my eyes
I sputtered for him to “kill me please”
and prayed for quick demise.

Last thing I remember
was the knife against my neck
his final words a lesson
you’d be best not to forget.

“When your parents tell you ‘stay at home’
you’d best not disobey
bet you never thought ‘shop till you drop’
meant that you’d end up this way.”

(c) Stella Darkely, October 30, 2009