Homecoming
By Anne Pollock
Shiver me timbers, rattle me bones,
it’s All Hallows’ Eve, and I’m on me way home.
Home to me wifey, me Katy, me best–
been three hundred years since they laid us to rest.
Through bolted door I’ll slither,
one night alone I’ll stay;
though shrieking mortals scatter,
naught shall bar the way.
Sure I am to find her as in the bygone days,
knitting me tatters and mending me frays;
rocking and turning a pale, toothy grin
to greet her dear Johnny and welcome me in.
Loosed from the grave to become the walking dead,
we’ll toast our health with a bottle of red;
then taunt our hosts with stories retold
of the good old days before we grew mold.
Haunting the house we once called home,
one night of the year with Katy, me own.
Teasing and carousing ’til the crack of dawn
When I lose her again to the black beyond.