the blood has gone black
on my boots and the floor
chopping up heads
piles up the gore

the *** is now brimming
with eyeballs and skin
the cauldron now bubbles
it's time to begin

I'll ladle a bowl
of half-done meat
my Halloween soup
of fingers and feet

won't you accept
my summons to dine?
what will it take
your life or mine?

Divert my eyes from her smooth hair
Discern her hidden thoughts of care

Of lofty dreams, that might be won
My small hope is near the sun

The creak in the floor
just outside the door
makes sleeping alone very scary

You shake where you lay
you plead and you pray
just hoping it's not something hairy

Halloween costumes in the 70s were oversized homemade style-ups
of witches, princesses, cowboys, and greasepaint hobos
spoiled by coats and jackets worn over everything against the cold

The sadness seemed genuine
but it was not
The soulful touch on the arm seemed sincere
but it was not
The apology sounded heartfelt
but it was not

Later, the boss looked into
the restroom mirror
after firing Meg
for no real reason
and the smiling lips silently repeated
the favorite phrase --
           "My hands are tied."

Meg's optimistic cheerfulness
had just become too much
for the boss

The thought was
that work should always be miserable
for people below the line

___________


The hand dryer roared
to cover the boss' laugh

'Take that, Miss Happy Pants,'
                          she said to herself
'Wipe that smile off your face
                                 and take that!'

When I see formations in the clouds
of a lion laying next to a lamb
I envision myself
as the noble lion
and the lamb
is a Hershey bar
                            with almonds

On Halloween
the monsters scare
in ghastly gray, both skin and hair
their one good eye will always stare
at where you hide
it sees you there