On a lonely fell is a coaching inn
where the locals stare and sometimes grin,
imbibing ale and swigging rum
as unsuspecting grockles come.
Those who choose to stay the night
will wish they hadn’t, with hindsight.
Wrapped in sweaty nightclothes’ trammel
and listening for the keyhole’s rattle,
the naïve and malleable ponder and sigh
at the fata organa in a stranger’s eye,
the touch of his hand and sinister warning
to take the opportunity to wake next morning
by getting the coach to other staging posts
without a reputation for resident ghosts.
Kim M. Russell, 2017
My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #169