By Andrew M. Bowen
Old Peter skulked and slithered through the mist
just like a fat old serpent seeking prey.
He burned to smother Anne with dirty kisses
for Peter knew her gallant husband was away.
He stalked the chilly night of Hallowe’en.
He had spent fairy gold to bribe a witch
to forge two charms, the first to make him unseen,
the other to steal Anne’s will – oh, what a son of a bitch!
His feet made little sound in cotton mist
as spirits flew beneath the crescent moon
and mages sketched circles of bile and piss.
He bared his rotten teeth; he’d seize his joy so soon.
He saw her house, a pumpkin on its porch,
and Spooky, Anne’s black cat, head on her paws.
Lust flared within him like a new-lit torch.
He reached the steps and Spooky showed her claws.
“Is someone there?” Anne sang out from the house.
The second charm scorched him with nova heat;
he could not scream as he morphed to a mouse.
The witch had touched his gold with iron and knew a cheat.
Anne looked and saw naught so she slept ‘til dawn;
the mailman’s screams awoke the damned and the blest.
Two bloodied legs attracted ants on the lawn
for Spooky played with Pete a while and ate the rest.
Andrew M. Bowen has published about 125 poems, is seeking to publish two novels, and is working on a third novel. He is an also an actor who has appeared in ten independent films, nine stage plays, two podcasts, and two radio plays.
Published 10/29/20
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