Trick-or-Treating night is hell.
No one even rings the bell.
The cat and I just sit and sulk
With bite-sized candy bars in bulk.
The cat wants out but she can’t go.
The NewsNite talking heads said so.
It seems that cats are Satan’s spawn
And must be shut inside till dawn.
I stare at her. She glares at me.
Outside, a talking Christmas tree
Tells Iron Man to keep on walking,
“This house sucks.” We hear you talking!
I give up. I’ve been defeated.
We’re both trickless and untreated.
Switch the porch light off. Hey, wait–
It was off! That’s– Hey, kids…!
To do or not to do, the question’s moot.
I’d rather not, but when would better suit?
If ’twere done now, ’twere done, though p’aps not well;
Delay is but the anteroom to Hell.
This is where I am today.
Tomorrow, too, and yesterday.
Check back next week–I’ll still be here,
Like last week; also, next/last year.
Know me once and me well–
My email’s still on AOL
And yes, each night I rest my head
Upon the wood-framed waterbed
I bought in 1984;
The t-shirts in my bureau drawer
(Still labeled “Play Clothes,” by the way)
Date back to Jimmy Carter’s day.
I’m not saying nothing changes,
Only that it rearranges
Where I am with where I’ve been
So where I go, I’m there again.
Plus ça change, they say abroad.
I’ve always found that saying odd.
Brightly blinking blues and reds
Illuminate the night.
Searchlights stab the darkened yards
Where dogs prepare to fight.
Pumpkins glare from porches where
The neighbors stand a-banterin’.
Seems a lot of fuss about
A few smashed jack o’lanterns!
A 4-4 game, the Series tied at 1,
The bottom of the ninth, two on, one out.
Pedroia snags Jay’s grounder, saves a run
By throwing out Molina. Big? No doubt.
Saltalamacchia, the catcher, spies
A chance to turn a 4-2-5 DP
And throws to Middlebrooks at third, whose eyes
Go wide as Jarrod’s throw; he dives, but he
Cannot corral the ball. The runner, Craig,
Instead of being out, then makes the turn
And heads for home, but stumbles as his leg
Collides with Middlebrooks…and so we learn
The reason Boston’s down 1-2 today:
Obstruction, per Rule 7.06(a).
Pow! Kazam! Whizz!
Wham! Ptooey! Slurp!
Slap! Bang! Clap!
[That fly was bugging me.]
What’s a lonely goat to do?
The pretty kids won’t bleat to you.
They tease you ’cause you cheesed them off
You climbed a tree and while aloft
You wet your face and legs with wee
Which fell like rain beneath the tree
And earned you perks with all the girls
(Not to mention freaked the squirrels).
When it seemed the drove would drown
You stopped the flood and clambered down
And then– and then refused to mate!?!
No wonder you can’t get a date.