written by: Rex Carey Arrasmith
In the night, sleepless
I rose to make a toddy
but broke my baby toe.
The moonlight shadowy
when I groped/crashed
on the living room sofa.
The last blue moon on Halloween
I noted before going to bed was
1944. Fabrics, paper and candles
were requisitioned for the war effort.
I turned on the light
and my baby toe was
to my foot.
It was kind of numb
so I snapped it
back into place.
Hobos were the most popular costume
for boys and girls in ‘44. 2020 we are in
the middle of a pandemic, tricks and treats
I didn’t scream
I didn’t want to wake my Allan
I did sort of whimper
and pogo’d around
and staccato low level grunted
The next Halloween blue moon in
2039 worries me. A war in 1944 a
Pandemic in 2020, has me marking
Anyhoo, I woke up
this morning in pain
and my baby toe is black
and I’m afraid
it’s going to turn
and fall off.
What could be worse than war? A
pandemic? What’s unimaginable? It’s
that inevitable horror that worries
me, and my remaining toes.
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