Poetry

A Halloween Story for Loleta

On Cannibal Island Road,
they’ll never find your bones.
They’ll use your skin,
to keep warm, and then,
they eat ice cream from your skull.

Out where the cannibals roam,
you’re welcome in their homes.
But please don’t be rude,
when they pass you the food,
and tell you it’s Uncle Jerome.

The dancer was a real treat,
she twirled and laughed so sweet.
They had so much fun,
when she tried to run,
the best part was the feet.

Don’t judge when they pass the spaghetti,
and you notice it looks like confetti.
The meat tastes real lean,
and the noodles unclean,
it was made out of stringy aunt Betty.

On Cannibal Island Road,
the farms are not up to code.
You won’t find any hogs,
nor cows, sheep, or dogs,
just rows and rows of tombstones.

If you’re traveling down this way,
you’re more than welcome to stay.
Of course, you can’t leave,
and you’d better believe,
you’ll make some great crudités.

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