Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Day Of The Dead




















First published in many mountains moving:

Day of the Dead

He left long after all the trick-or-treaters,
long after her neighbors have cleared out
because of the fire he pulled. Dressed as one
of New York’s finest, she let him in, and he
filmed her in different outfits, still as any
mannequin after the chloroform rag. She’d been
on his women to rape lists, stating he wanted
to take her down a notch. When the real
police found him, he slit his own throat,
and they saved him, despite his plea to let
him die. He’d been pretending to be a student,
but couldn’t pull off the costume now that
Halloween was over. I thought about all
the outfits I’d adorned myself with over the years
for various men. I hadn’t been drugged with
anything but the usual substances, and I’d been beautiful
or scary, a self-induced black-out here and there,
and in those moments I’m pretty sure I was both.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"My nature is to be in trouble again." Lauren Bacall

Cocktail Hour
Drinking HBO suggestion: True Blood

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

An excellent poem on many levels. Let us remember "New York's finest" from seven years ago. God bless America and God bless those who give their lives so that others may live.--Cleanth Brooks

the walking man said...

Ripper Raper slit his throat when the boys in blue kicked in his door. They stood around him as if he were a campfire. His pooling blood warmed them.

Laura said...

A blood red gem of a horror story, honey. xo

Charles Gramlich said...

Very powerful. Horror and surprise. I like Mark's riff on it too.

laughingwolf said...

wirx fir me!