The Bayou

The bayou begins to rise behind her.
Swinging at the edge of the wrinkling murky water,
She smells the pungent wet cypress
Trunks as they stand guard for her.
But they’re deceiving;
Rocking a windy lullaby,
As she swings in the rhythm Of her youth
On an evil pendulum with squeaking chains
Entrancing her…
She closes her eyes.
Then, as the water begins to engulf her,
She barely notices.