Poetry Monday: Halloween

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is Halloween. Join Diane, Delores, and me as we knock on all the doors in our brains and yell "trick or treat!" and see what happens . . .

You can leave your Halloween treats poem in the comments on any of our doorsteps blogs, or post on your own blog, in which case please leave a hairy eyeball comment so we can find you and eat your brains cheer you on! I don't know how those extra words keep finding their way in, but trust me, you're about to be frightened out of your wits safe here with me! Mwahahaha . . .

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Well, the craft sale is over, and I am mostly recovered. All four fingers on my left hand fell victim to hot glue, and I burned my arm brushing against a hot oven wall, but on the plus side I didn't burn a single one of the fifteen dozen oatcakes that I made to sell, so the whole "luck" thing balanced out. I spent almost everything I made on products from the other vendors (to give for Christmas and birthday gifts), so the whole "money" thing balanced out, too.

And then, just like that, it was Sunday night, and I had nary a line of poetry written.

But I had been thinking about it, in between hot gluing my fingers ornaments and baking my arm oatcakes.

And here's what I was thinking: after falling down the basement stairs last Halloween, that date is inextricably linked to the concept of "hurt" in my brain. When I think "Halloween," I think "pain." Isn't it strange how the mind works?

My back, which took a hard hit on the corner of a stair, took a couple of months to "come right" as they say, but I also hurt the last two fingers on my right hand, and they are almost back to normal one year later.

How did I hurt my fingers by falling on my back? I was letting our cat up from the basement, and going down the stairs to get her food and water, incidentally also carrying a small fake pumpkin to put into storage for another year. This was the pumpkin . . .

Has a mean look to it, doesn't it?

 . . . and because it was awkward to hold, I had my index and middle fingers through the eye holes. When I fell, I must have whacked the pumpkin (and my hand) against the stairs, too, although I didn't feel it at first because my back hurt like crazy. I'm assuming that hurt cancelled out the other hurt.

I'm also assuming the pumpkin put a spell on me to make my fingers take so long to get better, as payback for sticking my fingers in its eye holes, and also for cracking it in half when I fell. I used my trusty glue gun to fix it after about eight months, because I was tired of seeing it on the kitchen counter and being reminded of my Halloween trip (haha, pun intended), but the damage to me and the damage to Mr. Pumpkin clearly balanced out, just like the crafting burns and the oatcakes and the money in and money out at the craft sale.

Anyhow, I actually went for an x-ray at about the six month mark, because it was still hard to write and carry things, there was still pain and limited flexibility in those fingers, and I wanted to know if there was any damage to the bones before I went for physio. It took so long to get the x-ray taken and then get the results back that my fingers had improved some more by then and so I said to heck with physio and just kept using my fingers as best I could for housework and so on. Home style physio, if you will.

So . . . that's the long preamble over with; here's the poem.

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Pumpkin's Revenge

Halloween was finally over for another year.
Pumpkin Head had done his best to fill the kids with fear.
Donkey headed down the stairs to store him in a trunk,
Fingers in his eyes -- and then she landed with a thunk.

Mr. Pumpkin split in half, and thought that he would die.
He said, "My life is over, and I've never made a pie!" (haha, another dreadful pun)
His pride had suffered, too, from being carried by his eyes;
"That's no way to treat a friend!" he thought -- a silent cry.

He listened to the Donkey's moans, and grinned a bit in spite.
"I guess she's hurting too," he said. "It serves her bloody right!
"She thinks it's just her back that hurts but I've a clever plan:
"I'll put a hex upon the frailest fingers on her hand!"

And sure enough, within the day, how Donkey's misery grew.
Her fingers pained and swelled and then they turned all black and blue.
A year went by and it was nearly Halloween  again --
A year with Pumpkin's awful curse: The Double-Finger-Sprain.

We shouldn't judge the Pumpkin for his lack of empathy --
His head is filled with empty air; his eyes, they cannot see.
But you can bet the Donkey will be handling him with care,
Not poking fingers through his eyes when taking him downstairs!

*****

Have a Happy Halloween! Please don't take any unexpected trips!

. . . And be careful with your decorations . . .  😈

 

Update:  Next week's topic is . . . common sense . . .