Halloween
Sacks of candy from big
box stores,
Grab bags jammed
With Jetblue
Drams of sweetness,
heavenly hosts of sameness
bestowed
on the stoops of each
and every house
on my block,
Plenty Good
for the endless line of
petitioning
Marvel and Disney
intangible assets
interspersed
with vampires and the odd
Freddie.
I’ll admit to sleepwalking
my way
through this pagan ritual
until a pint size Winston
Churchill
presented himself and sent
me
scurrying to the scullery
for Bombay gin
in a highball glass, the
MP
no sooner having weaved
off into the night
than appeared
a ragtag gaggle
of beggars.
Reagan and Leary
Armstrong, Hitchens and
Grant
crying out for jellybeans
acid and EPO,
single malt and Cuban
cigars,
threatening all manner of
mayhem
and dirty tricks when low
and behold
as if on cue
a late arriving Cheney
deftly shoving
Molly Ivins
into the shrubbery
while asking sweetly
for nitroglycerine
and a Dum-Dum for his
little brother George.
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