Johnny Exit scarpered

Through the once impregnable door:

Shut now. Well bolted.

Though people still knock.

 

That was fifty years ago;

He drove a Vauxhall in his vest

On days of melting tarmac,

When sizzled cash was king.

 

The sightings continue:

In supermarkets, like Elvis,

Or just last week, in town,

Knocked down by a motorbike.

 

The file festers, wide open:

Masked men scour the woods,

Interrupting lovers

And turning them to stone.