The Woman in White, she beckons me,
But it’s The Thirty-nine Steps that worry me.
I think I might have To Kill a Mockingbird if it doesn’t come round
to stop this Lord of the Flies.
The Sound and The Fury of them all around me,
as if I’m in the Heart of Darkness, they’re so thick.
These steps To the Lighthouse are never ending.
The Trial of climbing is a Catch-22.
I can either tell Mrs. Dalloway and be Candide,
say I can’t make it, and recline
on the Leaves of Grass twenty steps down,
or act like The Aeneid and volley forth.
I’m gasping for air,
it seems to have Gone With the Wind!
I’m usually The Quiet American,
but being On the Road for Nineteen Eighty-four hours,
I fail to see what I would accomplish by stressing my heart.
It must have been The Call of the Wild,
that brought me to Jamaica Inn
to meet this woman and go on this venture.
I think years from now, As I Lay Dying,
I might remember this and smile. But for now,
I’ll just scream, Don Quixote, come save me!







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