Waiting at the Bridge

You walk along the dirt beaten path and it comes to you that you haven't been this way before. Oh, sure... it's all familiar enough. No dragons or leprechans. No weasels in a bucket or splicers in the soup. But on looking back to your left you realize, maybe that's not so. You're just waiting. Hoping and waiting. The rocks look warm and inviting. You think that maybe you'll take a chance and sit a while. But you get out of your car and as you touch down, the world scatters. It is all illusion. And not of someone else's doing. No. No this is your own. Hoping that you wake up. Hoping that the silver ships were real. But the alarm clock stops. The teeth are set. There is no catch in the air. Just you, the bed post, a box of cottons and the wait. No grass. No green. Full stop as the stream runs quietly on.