There’s a reason I won’t go to Mockingbird Park,
Not just ‘cause it’s creepy, not just ‘cause it’s dark;
There are twisty twined trees, there are weeds and neglect,
But worse than all that is the “mocking” effect.
As you walk the park paths, you’ll hear a faint echo –
Footfalls – your own? – in that dim and grim ghetto,
Coming closer and closer as if someone’s there…
You whirl and see no one, just fog on the air.
So you whistle – it whistles. You cough – and it coughs.
Then from murky mists a gray shadow breaks off.
It’s your height and your size and your very same shape,
And then it’s upon you, no time to escape!
You suck in cold air, and then – poof – it moves through you.
You laugh at yourself – a shadow can’t chew you!
But you turn and see someone who’s walking away,
This person – your double! – you glimpse with dismay.
They continue their strolling on down the park trail,
While you melt into mist, a fog of gray veil.
And that’s why I won’t go back to Mockingbird Park –
I like being you.
I hope you like the dark.