Eight

Now there's Eight midgets at my door, Pounding and hollering, "Do you want more?" I step back in fright At this gruesome sight, Like hungry tiny zombies In the darkest night So, what'll it be tomorrow? Nine dancing ninjas? All in paisley Pajamas? Better load my shotgun Before they get to ten, Stick my arm in the ammo box, Where I've never been... No ammo, I never had any... Guns scare me so, And why people have them, Now I know.... Oh, well, I'll load it with last week's meatloaf, That'd scare anyone off, Just the smell Can make you cough... Hope these ain't rotten- meat Craving beast Or I'll load it with flour And yeast That'll get a rise out of them Or maybe they're bakery ghouls, What then? Throw at them all my tools? I ought to move, This place is scary All my neighbors Seem awful hairy Especially around full moon, When I', rereading Christy's The Mystery of Darkness, Having an ale and bit of carcass, Oh, yeah, I get fangs as well And suddenly I Have a wolf's sense of smell I've nibbled on a few Ex-neighbors, In spite of all their labors To keep this wolf at bay, With favors... Yes this is living h_ll, Being a neighbor of Tom Bell.