Fossils of the Missing Ones – III: Backstabber
in quick light strokes of Sun’s brush;
dunes in seas of peach.
One can feel the night,
here, where extremity rules:
Night creatures scurry –
only a few more hours
before they become hunted.
Best not take chances:
“Enough for today! Please clean all the equipment.
Get a good night’s rest!”
The wind steals the flame
from my paraffin lantern,
exposed to total darkness (except for the brilliant stars).
A desert wolf howls.
“Let’s get going then!”
I trip over my backpack and roll down the dune,
sand in eyes-and-mouth.
A sudden sting in my back,
a blade of some sort.
I’m sinking deeper! I’m not alone; there’s a strange presence
that envelops me; that’s dressing me up
for the Midnight Death Boogie.
I don’t have a date.
They find me later in a shallow, sandy grave;
The team helps me out, dagger in the back.
I’m hesitant on my feet,
but regain balance looking down at his face
warped in a pleasure noose: