Posted by: Ron DuBour | July 12, 2017

The red striped Escort van~by Stephanie McDonald



The red striped Escort van

I can’t express how chuffed I am
To know the red striped Escort van.
It has a built-in car alarm 
To scare off those who’d do it harm.
Exactly what harm constitutes
Is not a question in dispute.
But still the red striped Escort van,
For reasons yet unknown to man,
Prefers to take a novel stance
And so that nothing’s left to chance
Will let us know that it’s alright
Roughly twenty times a night.
Though it may come as some relief
To know the wind and not a thief
Is toying with its nearside door
At five to three and ten past four
And then again at six eleven
Quarter to and ten past seven,
It comes as no relief to me
When sipping at my morning tea
To have my nerves, already frail,
Shattered by the siren’s wail
And the cataclysmic “plup”
Of chocolate biscuit dropped in cup.
And this is what I dare admit,
Whilst feeling quite ashamed of it:
I have an evil fantasy
Which sometimes quite takes hold of me
In which an Escort van, red striped,
One dark, apocalyptic night,
Is just about to shout and yell
“It’s five o’clock and all is well”
When from the belly of the ground
There comes the most appalling sound
And in a spew of things metallic
Comes forth a demon car mechanic
Who, deftly, with his greasy arm
Disconnects the car alarm
And with a crunch his mighty hand
Reconstructs the Escort van
To form a sort of Escort blob
Which he stuffs into his gob
And with epicurean pleasure
Lead-free farts, just for good measure.

© Stephanie McDonald 1993


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