My Trip To the Lake
Hounds prowl beneath a cold-blooded moon.
Torchbearers cross the levee in unions of two,
Each boasting of the mischief he’ll do.
Ghosts follow hard in Lucifer’s tracks.
Hell’s dignitaries, slipping through cracks in the night,
Prepare to hold a premature wake
On the evening of my trip to the Lake.
Dark cypress stand in tidewater flood.
Grim reaper drags his scythe through the mud as he moans
An orphan’s curse on Old Stingy Bones.
Cruel chatter where the demons commune,
Hoarse chorus chants the tune to a funeral march.
In a nervous sweat my hands start to shake
As I think about my trip to the Lake.
Lights out and with curtains all drawn
I pretend I’m not home,
Silent in my chimney corner.
I’ll wait till the mob passes on,
Sipping bourbon alone
Till the last unholy mourner
Exits the viewing
And slips out of sight.
Ghouls gather on my front porch and wail,
Knock-knocking like they’re driving a nail through the door;
A summons I’m inclined to ignore.
Fair princess swirls her cloak in the mist.
Court jester with a rock in his fist calls my name.
He’s got a proposition to make.
It’s been decades since my trip to the Lake…
...Mad foolishness one wild autumn night,
Glass shattered and a sliver sliced right through her vein.
I dumped her corpse in Lake Pontchartrain.
These children think I’m selfish and mean.
I’d just as soon forget Halloween, but I swear
That jester’s made a fatal mistake;
He’ll be going on a trip to the Lake.
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