From the Lies I Told My Children:

The Graveyard of Automobiles

Among the lies my father told:
the myth of the elephants, grown
old and exiled from the herd, wandering out
to die, deep in the jungle, a secret place
only to those great beasts known
and by ivory hunters for centuries sought

and like the elephants, old cars sought
their final resting grounds too, he told
me. He takes me there, across the bridge, tells me it's known
as the Island of Derelict Cars, now grown
to a jungle of wrecks strewn in the shadows of ancient trees, a place
inhabited by snakes, crocodiles, lost dogs and cats. Watch out!

But don't cry, don't be afraid, I'll hit them on the head, knock them out
with this hammer, he said, and sought
to comfort me, trembling in that eerie place.
Then later saying these were only tales he told,
that making up stories by grown
people isn't lies, but fiction, and sometimes even known

as literature. His Island of Derelict Cars is known
as Staten. I've learned that since I've grown
and more-- as not believing all I'm told .

................................................................. Israel Lewis

An abbreviated sestina, the full form consisting of six stanzas of six lines, plus three-line envoi. The challenge is to repeat the last words of each line in a sequence-- abcde, faebdc, cfdabe, ecbfad, deacfb, bdfeca, eca. ( Ref. Paul Fussell, Poetic Meter & Poetic Form. Random House NY 1979 p. 145)

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