Creakily and squeakily we meander in,
the mice and I. The bats are already there.
Gritty cobwebs in my hair.
Smelling something foul now. Putrid.
The mice turn and run.
I hear organ music
Pretty serious Dracula music.
There is no organ, which would be odd anywhere else.
Dilapidated staircase begins crumbling.
Hair raising scream now.
I smile, moving forward
Fearless, even if I am alone.
An ebony bat whisks past me
Heading toward the open door
Attracted by street light or afraid?
A weird cough to my right. I look. See nothing.
Welcome! An elongated deep Halloween voice says.
I am wearing my running shoes, but not ready to go yet.
How did you hear of us? Someone hisses.
I jump a bit, hoping they do not notice
For there is nothing visible yet
Someone runs past holding a machete in the air.
They came so close, I could feel their breathing on my arm hairs.
Scared yet? My cousin asks me.
I had not heard her come in.
Now I am.
She has been dead for six years.
WheelWright
By: Tom Wright
7/23/2006
Like a wheelwright’s newly finished wheel
Each spoke intact in the beginning,
But as the Wright wheel rolled through life
Spokes loosed from a life of spinning.
As with all things, time and abuses
Have left telltale signs of decay.
Until finally some spokes have loosened
Bringing difficulty into each day.
At last spoke Betty was beyond repair
Another, Joe, vanished and is unfound.
Mom & Dad bushing, from the hub are gone
Making it difficult to creak around.
At times we turn on an un-greased axle
And our squeaky parts don’t aptly fit.
We’re greeted each day with some new hurdle
As we remain sane and preserve our wit.
With loosened spokes the wheel gets wobblier
Each passing day is like another mile gone.
In the eyes of some this wheels quite useless
Someday, a single spoke will lie alone.
God knows and will call each spoke in time
He is cognizant of aches and pain we feel.
Spokes Norma, Jerry and me
Are left holding up this creakily old wheel.
That girl with a Nicki Minaj look really annoys me,
She boasts a lot thing that truly makes me dizzy.
Whenever I talk something about myself,
She overreacts and makes as well fond of herself.
She said it well but I’m not impressed,
We secretly mocked because she is so much suppressed.
She invisibly doesn’t know what others feel.
That girl who talks so hard doesn’t even know how to deal.
I frequently ask how she is being raised by her dad,
I can’t imagine how she was, when she was little cad.
Is she someone who I have to be with every single day?
Hella don’t know if I’m stuck in a not so filtered bay.
Is she trying to be frank? Loquacious? Or something?
That tactless mouth from hell is so never ending.
When will I ever say that I so much hate the way she speaks?
She ought to talk so guff that truly creakily leaks.
Oh Ms. Know It All is what I call her!
She’s doing many things like a royal blooded heir.
I can’t stand watching her in an over baroque style,
Can I just like eat, drink and love a little while?
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