BOOS IN THE NIGHT

To protect ourselves from hordes of trick-threatening little monsters demanding treats at mister & missus muse’s doorway tomorrow night, I’m considering leaving the lights off as darkness descends on our humble abode….sort of the ‘discretion-is-the-better-part-of-valor’ equivalent of playing dead if real life (threatening) monsters were to besiege us.

But I fear that the more worldly-wise of those juvenile mendicants will see through my hoary Halloween subterfuge — especially if they shine a flashlight through our garage window, see cobwebs stretching from my wife’s 1929 Duesenberg Model J Sports Sedan to my 1919 Locomobile Model 48 Town Car, and (putting two and to together) realize we senior citizens haven’t gone out in ages. We are home.

So I put my thinking cap-tion on to come up with the title of this post and a plan that, while it may not fool the little devils into passing us by, should absolutely scare the bejesus out of them when they approach: a bigger than life-size cutout (revealed by motion-activated overhead light) of — who else — DONALD TRUMP on the stump and rigged with appropriate sound effects (such as “Get ’em outta here!“). If that doesn’t do the trick, I don’t know what wood. Here’s a sneak preview — BOO!

Now, you might think: Surely some of those pre-pubescent scavengers are little Republicans who adore The Donald and will think his visage is such a treat that they will knock on my door just to thank me, and not even ask for goodies. To you I say airily:

As for those Donald-adorers and their thanks, I will say: You’re NOT welcome. Next Halloween, the specter of that mean-spirited blowhard will be replaced by a cutout of President (if she doesn’t blow it) Hillary warning you bad little beggars to get the GOP-hell outta here and never darken my door again. But as long as you’re here now, you might as well leave a donation to The Clinton Foundation — if you know what’s good for you.

ANOTHER HALLOWEEN, ANOTHER POEM (OR THREE)

TRICK OR TWEET

Hey ghostwriter, what are you do-ing?
FRight now, I’m practicing my boo-ing.

LET’S NOT GET CARRIED AWAY

Prince of Darkness, when we go,
Your specter is no illusion ….
But when you come, why can’t we know
The meaning of this intrusion?

One might think your job’s to lurk,
Always taking, never giving ….
But I would hardly call it work
When dying hands you a living.

LUCIFER LIGHTS MY FIRE

Waked after falling asleep writing poems,
My seat feels so hot, I jump up in the air.
I realize then a two-horned joker
Has set papers on fire under my chair.

“Is that my rhymed verse?” most sternly I scream.
“It burns like a dream!” he rhymes in reply.
“What the devil”, I delve, “are you up to?”
“Just warming up you.” is his cold goodbye.