Midnight Pub

Under the Baobab Tree (A tribute to Clarkson, Hammond, and May)

~theoddballphilosopher

Outstretched along the wire-thin horizon,

where the dead lay in shallow graves.

Three animals set forth on a great migration,

To cross a lifeless salted sea.

A buzzard flew in from the burkea tops,

followed by his loyal pack of wild dogs.

And told them of the perils that lay ahead;

fresh meat for scavengers should they perish.

The arid and ageless ground shone the sun’s light

like a foggy mirror. Dust clouded their eyes

as the sun, like a predator, reached its apex.

Heatwaves brushing the ground like ripples in still water.

Their limbs began to sink beneath the mush,

Weighing down their heavy bodies; all but one,

Whose limbs were too brittle to be sunk

to pull and tug them out alone.

They shed their weight, and still

The mush stuck to their black-ringed feat.

The ground hardened as did their resolve

To press on in spite of the humbling heat.

On a lone island, the animals three

Stood, perching atop the rocky outcrop; under

the shadow of the lone baobab tree.

They gazed out towards the descending sun

Adorning it’s coronal garments, lighting

the sea and sky in a flameless fire.

As the Baobab bent to grasp its rays fading.

They journeyed beyond the island rock,

Traveling on air, land, and sea

A grand tour across the globe,

That began from under the Baobab tree.

Their twilight years had come at last,

Friends united and broken by destiny.

So they broke their veil, split their bond,

Under the shadow of the Baobab tree.

They rode off into the setting sun,

Tailing dusty trails of three.

Memories left to the scattering winds.

From underneath the Baobab tree.