Washington summons ---------------------------------- This, my friends, is an honest tale, with absolutely no skew No embellishment, with the Lord as witness, hundred percent true An accurate recounting (of last week) in a poetic format Of my summons to Washington DC and the trip I made for that Read on, my friends, this veritable account of that event Part of which may sometimes seem, well, not of normal bent It's just that everything that's "normal" in Washington DC Tends to invariably redefine (these days) your sense of normalcy It started insidiously, the day was just a tad lukewarm The voice on the phone, at the other end wore a starched uniform Invited me to Washington to visit a government base "Bring your license," barked the voice, "and your passport, just in case" I didn't realize at the time, the ominous import Of the words, until my mapping software showed a heliport For a moment I did wonder if they'd spirit me from there To some James Bond mission in foreign lands, and if so "what would I wear?" I could fly of course, and would reach DC in sixty minutes flat But I've never been quite as remarkably sensible as that It's there, in all of us I think, this instinct to survive But not in me, oh no, my friends, I decided to drive A journey well begun, I admit, on that snowy afternoon I packed hurriedly, got on the road hoping to get there soon Punched in that government address on my eccentric GPS Ignored the heliports and teleports and focused on the rest The drive would last four hours on a nice and normal day But I slowed down to a crawl as it started snowing on the way I had printouts of instructions that were excruciatingly detailed Had them on paper just in case my global positioning failed Dusk had fallen, the snow was light, the road was almost dry I drove quietly and intently, watching bright yellow lines glow by Thinking lovely thoughts, poetry swirling in my head Warm inside the car, contemplating streaks of tire-tread The city far behind now, I drove past the countryside Twinkling lights, barnhouse smoke, some magic of yuletide I passed by rows of leafless trees, frozen, standing stark Normally I'd hear the wolves and crickets chorus in the dark But now I had the windows drawn, for the warmth I must confess And though the road was smooth, my car was noisy nevertheless Well, I turned on some music, feeling quiet and content When a grey mustang appeared from nowhere, clearly intent On killing everyone on the road, seemed clinically insane Tailgating me, high-beaming me, then sliding in my lane Right in front of me, no indicators, no headlights turned on My poetic swirl stopped, and suspicion began to dawn What if some foreign powers had tapped the crisp communication Between me and the starched voice, recorded the conversation Played it out, analyzed it and divined what it all meant Knew things that I hadn't yet been told by the US government What if the starchy voice had called me in for a critical mission Of great strategic international importance, enough to commission Trained, dangerous assassins through an online agency I hear that on the dark web they could be hired for a fee What if this Mustang that was now stealthily following me Had, even as I drove, a sniper's rifle aimed at me He flew by me and honked me, as he passed by I expected To see the muzzle of a rifle, instead I saw one finger extended "Speed up or get off the road" the finger seemed to say I think I swore in verse since my poetry hadn't fully gone away I ignored him quietly, focused on the beautiful tranquil night But the yellow lines on the road seemed suddenly not-so-shining-bright Suspicion turned to realization, then frustration, then to smolder I pulled up on the side of the road, entirely missing the shoulder It wasn't bad, just a shallow ditch, but I really had to see Why the lines on the road were dimmed, why this guy was honking me Aha! I found it, puzzled now and thinking hard what trick Could have blown my headlamps dead even as I drove a steady lick "They've hacked into my car, I know," was my logical conclusion "No other way", I thought, I wasn't given to delusion I drove for hours in the rain, and the roads were quite damp On this runway zoomed and flew away like moonlight on a swamp Some cars that broke the speed limits by a factor of three or two And when it wasn't honking, the grey Mustang joined the circus too Now Washington is not a place you ever want to go In a car with no headlamps, and a potential assassin on the tow Double that especially if your innate fear of heights Makes sky-high ramps terrorizing, free-falling roads a fright I turned off my poetry and ignored all the other cars Closer to Washington, friends, there's a mess straight from Star Wars Following GPS instructions, for a half an hour or so I went from ramp to scary ramp, getting nowhere else, you know They'd gotten to my GPS ( it dawned) well and good, it seemed Hacked into its software which seemed now completely creamed The other cars protested wildly at my high-beams that were on I couldn't help it, I had no lamps, and my GPS was blown "Take ramp, to the right, to I-95" it said, and as it got too late "Keep left to Clarendon," it said, its tone laden with hate I screeched over to the left lane, from the foot of the ramp on the right Which promptly got me and other cars in a super-high-speed fight "Recalculating" it said, "Drive zero point eight miles" "Then exit right to Beeler street," said this gasoline termite When I did so, it recalculated, asked me to get back "Exit right," "Stay on," "Exit left," "Now stay on this track" Commanded me to turn into a street that I approached The delicate matter of turning right or left just wasn't really broached "Take ramp on right," "Turn left," "La de la" "Turn back," "Make a U-turn," "Turn it off" "Ha ha ha!" I was driving then through murky streets, peering through the fog Nearly ran over this walking sausage of a low-clearance dog Nightwalks for dogs should be just banned all around Especially road-colored ones with their undercarriage brushing ground You can never see them even with your high-beams turned on high And on a foggy night like this, well, I would like to see you try The critter was a plant so I would kill it, I suspected "And then they would kidnap me," while being seemingly arrested I wandered around and found a decent hotel at long last Had no idea where I was, but had to end this really fast Luckily they told me they had their largest suite to spare "I'll find the government in the morning," I thought, "If they are still there" My suite was up quite high, on the twenty seventh floor But when I got there I discovered, I couldn't open the door I waved my card at different angles, and once the light turned green But I still couldn't get to open it, so finally kicked it in I got in with a bruised toe and one crumpled Jimmy Choo Checked for bugs and suchlike, and video recorders too Then I ordered, ate, a sandwich, and then promptly fell asleep Until the next morning when the the hotel clock went "bleep" "6 am" it flashed in a menacing neon blue I punched it, continued to sleep, until it suddenly went "yoo hoo!" I yanked out its cord, but then woke up anyway Washed up, had breakfast, and then got back on my way Now listen to me, my friends, if you ever get a call From a government agency in Washington, try hard not to fall For the voice at the other end, its content or anything else thereof If you can muster the courage, just tell them to buzz off Those instructions and addresses that they will send to you by email Are custom-calculated to deploy you off the trail Now according to their map this place was just two miles away On the left side of the highway, but there was nothing there that day I could spot no building, no oil tank, nor even a heliport I read through all instructions again, even the fine print they wrote Finally I gave up, hopefully approached a gas station clerk Who looked me up and down and then looked through me like a jerk "Who's asking?" he then snapped, and I really couldn't understand Why a gas station clerk would have to take this high-and-mighty stand "Its an intelligence facility," he gloated, "So I have to ask" "Oh yeah?," I thought, but told him, "Jennifer Lorimer B. M. W. Clark" "Turn left as you go out," and then drive thirty two miles down "You'll see a gas station," beside a building colored brown "There'll be no sign on it," so just park outside and walk in "And what if I get shot?" I asked "by their security men?" "Well, then, if that's a problem, and if you're willing to be late" "Go right past the building another mile to the Torpedo Gate" I spotted it on the map, Aha! said "I can now take it from here" Thanked him and started off, my destination finally clear The mustang again! It had changed its shade to pink These government intelligence guys weren't as good as you'd think In fact I was quite convinced by now, those guys weren't smart enough Our conversation had been tapped for sure, and it was going to get rough What if this Torpedo Gate led to some location (sort of) remote Maybe the GPS was clairvoyant when it showed a heliport The GPS now silent, I followed instructions and their maps Though government instructions do have pretty serious gaps I reached a large wide gate, a hundred cars lined up to enter There were two lanes going in, somehow I found myself in the center The guard at the gate was a giant, about two barrels wide With the index finger of one hand, he motioned me to the side Generally that bothers me, and I don't answer such summons But this six-foot-five individual seemed to have approximately four guns I showed him all my maps and he said "Wrong gate!" and "Turn back!" And motioned me to turn around through a gap in the adjacent track As I turned into it he called out loudly: "All-Traffic-Halt!" I felt ninety nine eyes glaring at me, like it was my fault The guy in the pink Mustang was staring, had a patch over one eye Honked me as I passed him, and I knew this guy was a spy This was a large establishment, of the classic military kind Roads meticulously designed to drive you clean out of your mind I went around, and round, and around the military constructions None of which were even on those very detailed instructions I finally found a gate with two torpedoes poised on top Great, this had to be it, I pulled up to the gate, to a stop A guard some six-foot-seven, checked me up and down with care "You can't go in" "You need a host" "who'dya want to see in there?" I told him all I knew and he spoke, his tone a crisp redress "Turn back," "Turn right" "Go to that building, get your badge," like my GPS It took a long time, while they took my passport and my license Checked them out, concluded everything on them did make sense Admitted with the permit, now for the final part of this tale Which is nevertheless as zany in its harrowing detail I had the number of a building and it was quite easy to see On the map they had provided, that it was very near to me Friends if you have ever been inside a military base You'll know these are designed by some architectural nutcase With their goal "Confuse infiltrators!", they resoundingly succeed But on poor invited visitors, the effect is just the same indeed It took another half hour for me to find where I had to go I stopped and asked some uniforms, but no one seemed to know Another thing, my friends -- those instructions don't say at all That all roads into a government establishment run into a wall I finally found the building, saw the pink Mustang parked by Went in slightly dazed at that, saw the one-eyed patchworked spy He was the chief of staff in here, I learned, of a very special kind And he was the one who'd called me here, to analyze a crime So that ended my day, my friends, I stayed some time, and left My journey back was worse, which I won't describe in this context ----------------------------- 17 Mar 2018, recounting 15 Mar 2018 Copyrighted. Copyright waived for all agencies of the US Government (No, not for other governments...)