There’s a reason I won’t go to Mockingbird Park, Not just ‘cause it’s creepy, not just ‘cause it’s dark; There are twisty twined trees, there are weeds and neglect, But worse than all that is the “mocking” effect. As you walk the park paths, you’ll hear a faint echo – Footfalls – your own? – in that dim and grim ghetto, Coming closer and closer as if someone’s there… You whirl and see no one, just fog on the air. So you whistle – it whistles. You cough – and it coughs. Then from murky mists a gray shadow breaks off. It’s your height and your size and your very same shape, And then it’s upon you, no time to…