A Kind of Apocalypse

'Twas brillig, no, 'twas later than brillig
when the lights of the car brushed
the rusted wire of the gate.
And as I opened the door of the
car, a voice as gravelly as the
pebbles beneath the tyres swung
at me from out of the darkness.
Wary, wary, quite contrarily, I listened.
My neighbour, a man my friend,
guided me to a home not my own,
to a family not my own,
filled me up with food as he
told me that three I held most dear
had been in a car accident.
I felt the flesh of my face pale
and the bones of fingers tremble.
I felt the cold, sympathetic stare
as he gauged my reaction,
and I felt my previous world
end, not with a bang, but with
a whimpering shudder.