Inkpotamus

A spooky poem about...

Halloween, trick-or-treating and death

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Do not go to trick-or-treat
To the crooked house on Crooked Street
For the crooked man who lurks unseen
Does not care for Halloween

No, he does not care for Halloween
Nor the youngsters who in steady stream
Come trick-or-treating at his door
Tonight their knocks he will ignore

Why do they come and bother this
Old man’s life of loneliness?
They come to beg, demanding stuff
From one who barely has enough

He’d lived there since those kids were born
Yet they pulled his plants and messed his lawn
Shouting shouts and knocking knocks
One lad looked in through the letterbox

Looking back with a dead man’s stare
Was the old man’s corpse in the old man’s chair
Oblivious to every lark
He sat decaying in the dark

No, he does not care for Halloween
They say his ghost still lurks unseen
So no-one goes to trick-or-treat
To the crooked house on Crooked Street