Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Trick or treat, smell my feet


Sacks of candy from big box stores,
Grab bags jammed
With Jetblue
Drams of sweetness,
heavenly hosts of sameness
on the stoops of each
and every house
on my block,
Plenty Good
for the endless line of petitioning
Marvel and Disney
intangible assets
with vampires and the odd

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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