An exotic excursion in 3 parts by Elwood Herring
CHAPTER I
It started like this: I arose from my bed
And opened the door with an ache in my head -
Then surveyed the scene with binocular sight,
And noticed that everything wasn’t quite right.
As soon as I saw the full moon up in space
I knew this was not a predictable place.
It looked quite serene and at peace way out there,
Except for the fact it was perfectly square!
I took just a second to glance at the wall -
The hands on the clock were not moving at all.
I saw nothing strange at this state of affairs -
It's always twelve thirty unless I'm upstairs.
The newspaper headline was brief and concise;
It said the police shot a man with a knife.
The story below said the weapon they'd found
Had lodged in his wallet; he'd panicked and drowned.
Then in the obituary column I saw
A name that immediately slackened my jaw –
My own execution highlighted in red!
(I couldn’t help noticing I wasn’t dead.)
Now hold on a moment, I heard myself say,
The language has altered; there's no letter "J"
There's something amiss in this parallel place;
As if I’d moved sideways in time, but not space.
Retracing my thoughts in a haphazard way:
My trauma had started the previous day.
I pondered on memories of truffles and wine
And skyscrapers dancing in thirteen / eight time.
The night before last I had shuffled my feet
To the strains of Picasso that rose from the street.
I dealt out a hand with five thumbs and a toe,
And lost the whole jackpot to Old Nick below.
He showed me my future, as part of the bet,
Then stole all my memories to balance the debt;
And as he dispersed in thick sulphurous smoke
I realised I’d been the butt of his joke.
I took a few moments to gather my thoughts,
Assess my surroundings and make my reports;
I couldn't quite place what was wrong in the room
As few of the demons were singing in tune.
The taunts of Beelzebub rang in my ears
As I left the casino in buckets of tears.
(They didn't quite fit me, despite looking neat,
And I couldn't go back as I'd lost the receipt.)
The ground far above me was spongy and soft,
The hazy red sky was below, not aloft.
Three suns lit the scene in lugubrious hues
Casting strange fractal shadows of purples and blues.
This retrograde planet had me in a spin;
I couldn’t tell which pair of socks I was in.
I looked in a mirror with ominous dread -
Only to see the inside of my head!
Whilst wending my way thru' the smog and the slime
I met an old swagman who asked for the time.
(What he wanted to do with it, I couldn’t guess;
He was most incoherent - but then I digress.)
I checked for my pulse, then without undue haste
Consulted a sundial I wear round my waist.
It chimed the dimension in clear dulcet tones,
Then noisily shattered in fourteen time zones.
When promptly informed of his temporal state
He proffered a beaker obtained from his crate.
The liquid was musty; like Lucifer's mask,
And slowly dissolving the base of the flask.
"Young man" he said haughtily, raising his cup,
"This potion is good for you; drink it all up!
I hope you appreciate living it rough;
It's nearly a penny a pint for this stuff."
Without indecision I matched his bold pose
And accepted the gift that assaulted my nose.
(Would civilizations be strangled at birth
If I didn’t imbibe just this one pennyworth?)
"Resistance is futile", he said with panache
As he tilted the tankard towards his moustache.
"A timely demise to an ageing belief -
A toast to your new life, you cretinous thief!"
With great optimism he cleared his throat
And pulled out a fish from the leg of his coat.
(The fish – a Red Herring, I hasten to say
Swore at us in Garlic, then skated away.)
With a chip on his shoulder the size of a plank
He told me I had his pet wompom* to thank,
Who’d rescued my carcass from under the stair
Where the Crown Prince of Darkness had gone to his lair.
He offered to show me his abstract disease
(As soon as I’d paid the appropriate fees.)
Then he read his soliloquy all the way through,
And stated demands for a plane to Peru.
I asked him to hazard a guess at my fate
Would I be enlightened, or was it too late?
He seemed quite impatient to get in his cart
Despite the revolver I held at his heart.
"It won't take me long," he said stifling a grin,
"To get a round Too-Wit to get around in."
He thrice clicked his heels, then outlined something weird,
"There's no place like home..." he said, and disappeared.
* wompom – imaginary animal/plant invented by Flanders & Swann
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