Sunday, April 4, 2010
There's always a queue for the last bus home:
many old folks have a ticket to ride
on the one that stops by the boundary herm,
quite a few youngsters are travelling besides.
Not long now before we get on the bus:
we've never been on such a trip before,
though some start crying and make a great fuss,
for what's best described as a mystery tour.
It's been a long journey since we first arrived,
when we were all greeted with cries of joy:
our folks were worried if we had survived,
often asking, "is it a girl or a boy?".
Wails of fear go up when the travellers see
the charabanc come toiling over the hill,
although some turn their backs, they cannot flee,
while others stand frozen, perfectly still.
Charon pulls up and winds on the handle,
changing the letters displayed on the front,
the dog at his side lights a new candle
and displays sharp teeth like a cynodont.
When all are inside, the bus pulls away.
some try to hide but know it's all over
the sign on the bus says 'Hell is this way',
so we know the dog's name's not Red Rover.
The lightning conductor says, "Tickets please":
we give up our tickets in exchange for two pence.
Hermes thinks this is a Hell of a wheeze
and refers to our souls in the past tense.
With gnashing of teeth and cries of dismay,
cold coins falling from our unseeing eyes,
we get our first glimpse of Sulphur Creek Bay:
our new holiday home, what a surprise.