Death In The Woods

This poem is based on a true local story.

Shack

Charred remains, burnt sticks

Tinder from which the shack was fashioned

Shed or shelter, hidden within the hollow,

Below beech trees, deep inside the wood,

Approached by his self-made track.

Where the body was found

Deep within his den.

His place now open to the sky, gaping,

Where the roof once was,

Flimsy walls protecting rough bedding,

Door, corrugated iron sheet,

Tattered tarpaulin,

Old palings shackled together

With rope and wire

Forming his rural refuge. 

His real house only miles away,

Wife and children waiting

Unable to understand

What eccentric whim

Drove him to live this way,

Abandon all comfort, all company,

To bury himself in muddy abode,

Freezing in the depth of winter,

Half-starving,

Alone here in the back-woods.

Alcohol and cigarettes

To numb the pain and pass the time.

A camping stove, a naked flame

For cooking and warmth,

Keeping at bay the damp and mould

The essential tools of staying alive

Catching alight

Spreading flames or fumes,

Smoke or steam

Becoming the agency

Of his unseen death.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012