Something in the water

Only dogs could hear the crunch
of loose stone
and the hiss of air-brakes
swinging in off the bypass,
curtain sided carrier
of substances unknown.

George brushed cake crumbs
from his “keep on truckin” tee shirt
and drained the last dregs
from his coffee stained flask.
He liked to work alone
wallowing in the cabs clutter,
paper work became fresh floor mats,
delivery note were used as plates
for hot buttered transport cafe toast.

Two drums he had to drop
no label’s, no questions for cash
just the way he liked it.
A delightful, quiet spot,
above the village beside a beck.

The drums where a poor design,
the lids splitting open
as they hit the tree lined hedge,
contents glugged like eels into the long grass,
soaking the substrate,
slithering soluble into the water course.

The surface of the village pond
broke with fissures,
bleeding silver under a sharp black sky.
The capsized eyes begged mercy under the moon
who cried a chemical curse,
the faith of the fish would be rewarded.

Another late night drop
George was nervous
the night filled with moonlight brought caution
and irritation,
he snatched at the last drum
and slipped.

Pinned by his unsecured load
a scream crossed sheep covered fields
dropping distant to the ear of a working dog
tired from the days obedience,
it growled quite in its bed.

Acid claimed his face and chest
eating flesh,
one eye survived longer
than his windpipe.

As he thrashed the damp night air
in to his veins, clouds swam
to their mother the moon,
shadows returning to darker pools,
streaking down empty streets
crossing farmhouse rugs and rooftops
spilling over sleeping dogs.

As George's heart gave out
the clouds parted,
nature had found its balance
all calls had been answered.