Hallow E’en 2021

Who’s that knocking, knocking at our door?

Their cloths are tattered, their eyes too big;

They smell of dregs and speak in tongues.

Like trolls, they sleep under bridges,

Demanding a token from each passerby.

Cover your ears, they have a banshee wail,

loud devil music, and cry long into the night.

Like Hungry Ghosts, they feed on crumbs.

Go lock the cupboard, we can’t feed them all.

They creep alone at night in silent deserts,

Springing up where you least expect them.

One might marry your niece;

Our blood and their blood might mingle 

destroying us all.

….

Knocking, knocking, knocking.

….

Who is that knocking, knocking at our door?

About alicebarrett

Small town writer
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s