t h e r a p i s t

One headlight out, that worthless junk I drove.
A lopsided path was lit ahead into that stifling fog.
That sickly tin can mumbled along past an elm tree grove,
and rolled on by a nauseating musty bog.

Unfortunicity gave my tire reason to blow out,
so we hobbled over to a scenic pullout,
hoping what was, was not, without relief.
Popping the trunk amidst a foreboding background grew
my heart’s keen arrhythmic tendencies –noted this grief
from haunting tree shadows creeping towards my shoe.

Not oft did a flash pass from others trekking
so startled, I was, a two blinding lights
to come across my toiling figure squinting.
My work I laid aside to look for someplace to hide,
but there I was exposed beneath an inky night.

A masculine voice called out to me in aid,
and knew I not if this was true or feign,
so I stayed kneeled, and no reply I made.
Long had I heard of villains that took the dark to reign,
and was wary of his true intentions there.
I kept that worthless car between he and I,
shuffling along the ground to avoid his stare—
didn’t gamble to dare a glimpse of his eye.

He looked around and gave a couple more shouts,
I prayed my breaths were not as loud as they felt.
Just when he turned back to his truck in doubt,
the wrench was tipped next to where I knelt.

My eyes strike horror, my legs, they paralyze,
he starts—and back towards me his eyes they dart.
My brain scrambles frantically while I realize
that precariously upon the spare did I leave that part.

I quickly grab the door handle, to escape him within,
in my panic I forget this door is jammed
and there upon the hood I can see his hand.
He sees me now and asks if I need help from him.
I look at him and reply—I have everything under control
and he can be on his way.
He says he won’t feel comfortable to roll
until he sees that I have driven away.

Insisting, he comes near, and flinch, I do
for now he’s right above me, offering me his hand
to get up off the ground.  I recoil a foot or two
and rise up to my feet (I also grabbed some sand).
He advances once again and now I back around the rear
hoping he can’t see the sand (or fear).

I tell once more strongly that I am well and fine,
that I have no need for his help and he is free to go.
He tells me no.  and points to the sign behind,
Noting that the nearest town is 126 miles below.

His benevolent face is changing, his grin is now
kniving.  He’s coming towards me—I throw the sand
in his eyes, and take advantage of his surprise,
running to the drivers door I jump in—just as planned.
Praying cars can drive with a flat, I go to turn
the key.

He’s sputtering behind me, with hands flying at his face.
The sand grinding in, burning just as mace.
My car is choking at the ignition, as it always done,
but now I’m seeing my fear has won
for suddenly it won’t turn over.

I give it gas and try again, the man now filled with reason
comes banging at my window glass.
Aching for the car to start, and yelling at it for its treason
I start to scream from all this terror amassed.

At the glass does he keep bashing
and banking on the integrity of that vintage glass
I keep to twisting on that key
urging it maybe to show some class
and be a gentleman to save me.
But none of that does come and little lines form on the window
exposing weakness in too visual a form,
The crinkling glass comes crashing
and bloodied hands pull up the lock. The door opens wildly
rocking the whole car. His dirty face and blood-soaked hands
aim for my flailing figure. I surge back to the passenger seat, kicking at his frame.
My hands try-shaking-to open the passenger door, his grasping hands shredding at my
lashing legs.
I forget the door is jammed.