Truth is Stranger
Than fiction.
It started as an innocent interception
A chance conversation on the phone
Waiting patiently for the operator
I found that I was not entirely alone.
I heard this one-sided communication
A male voice laying down a plan
The details of a questionable activity
It was clear he was the boss and the front man.
He mentioned some names times and addresses
I jotted the details on a pad I had at hand
Then later put the pieces together
Then crossed an invisible line drawn in the sand.
The Terrace address was in Cardiff
The time, January nineteen sixty-two
The location is a warehouse near the seaside
And I was keen and had nothing else to do.
I wore a black coat and took night glasses
And positioned me undercover before the hour
The city hung damp in the milky moonlight
The cold drizzle turned to a dog of a snow shower.
A truck pulled up next to the warehouse
Acrid fumes leaked from its exhaust
Four men dressed in camouflage jumped out running
And in the murky mist immediately were lost.
Then there was a humongous explosion
Both the truck and warehouse blew to smithereens
I still remember vividly the intercepted phone call
And the dead man’s voice that spilled the beans.
©
David Rudder
2023
This is a case of “Truth is Stranger than Fiction” the way our experiences weave into the tapestry of our poems and stories.
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