Larry E. Myers

It wasn’t the end of the world when she up and died,
But I admit I had to talk a tear from sloshing over the side.
The crow quit calling her names over his drifting shadow.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

Brown eyes, big feet and a short tail,
a biscuit’s nightmare, she could follow any trail.
A free roaming spirit, she feared no foe.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

She scattered the squirrels and ran the rabbit.
She shook the possum from his dreams and shooed the egret.
Not a cat chase missed and she rolled the armadillo.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

It must be a happy place, a place without a care.
For a week or a month, I would like to visit her there.
Dogs have no soul; some say it to be so. Then,
does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
Sparkling darkness opens the show.
Strangers arriving from all around;
Some even, from the bad side of town.

They come afoot and driven by car;
Toddlers in strollers, they can't walk far.
Mothers shouting orders to stay in sight,
Transgressors will rightly rue this night.

Flickering lights and untied laces;
Stomping feet going through their paces.
Scampering legs are willing accomplices,
To smiling eyes and hideous faces.

Through the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
Decked to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and waiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.

Garish masks obscure excited grins.
Shrieks of joy emanate from within.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
Hang from limbs, grinning in ghoulish mirth.

Silken chains embracing all who stray,
Beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by howling cries of certain demise;
Steaming cauldrons await their fleshy prize.

Engraved heads from the garden of Hades,
Impotent charms to appease candied fantasies,
Festooned arches bedecked in orange and black,
Ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque;

Hostiles charitably looting town;
Sacks of booty slowing them down.
With bulging bags filled with plunder,
The advancing hordes scatter asunder.

Like tocks from a clock, they continue to arrive,
Will the morrow find villagers still alive?
Spades of woe befall each who rashly ignore,
Ominous omens glued to shop window and door.

Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage;
Assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance;
Exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.

Eyeing my castle the motley mobs charge in,
Guarded but by growlin' dog an' smilin' pumpkin;
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
My breath on hold, I hear the chime;

My time I fear is near at hand,
My blood or treasure they demand;
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
No mercy presented for my plight;

With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
Please Lord I pray, make them depart;
For a shot of Scotch I silently scream,
Because I forgot the candy on Halloween!