by Peter Frantz

Created on: October 01, 2009

The October moon glowers down at me.

It knows I am up to my games

In the chill of the lonesome eve

On Kettlenook Rd. out beyond

The Smokey General Store.

The last of the children wander by,

But they don't notice me-

Hidden beside the oak

Grasping at the painted world

With its crooked claws of branch.

I eye them, their stained white sheets,

Pointed green noses and

Rattling plastic bones covering

The real treat.

I long to taste the buried flesh

In these young and tender creatures,

Gorging myself on the tendons,

Muscles, fat of the roast

Of Midnight pleasure.

The last one never makes it home.

I am the reason why.

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