A spooky Halloween treat……..
Underneath the table saw.
Fingers in the dust,
writing as they must,
on and on and on.
But what soul shall see –
my secret there,
upon the wood shop floor?
Hidden for eternity,
her cold dark stare,
the bloody fingerless whore.
She screams and cries
with her nubby little hands,
she ups and dies
fulfilling her plans
no whats or whys
or rubber bands
to hold them all together.
And I left that 9th grade shop,
with my rickety birdhouse in tow,
pieces falling off,
as far as I could go.
And when arrived I did declare,
with little wood left to compare,
“it was the whore’s fault.”
Always was.
Always will be.
As her fingers write eternally.
. .. .... ....... .......... ............... ......................... © 2014 John Allen Richter .........................
johnallenrichter 