He's got a cackle bark when he snarl-speaks.
He has half a jack-o-lantern jaw of teeth.
When strangers sees him on the empty streets
they turn on their heels and high tail it the other way.
I'm sure he bays at the moon at night,
It wouldn't matter if it were full or not.
He'd bark, he'd snap n' bite, for he's
a closer cousin to the ripper or the reaper
always tripping on some coke or reefer...
and you can smell him comin' from a long ways off.
For the meanness of him is over-ripe, raw and rotten.
He's up all week, long-in-the-tooth, evil-tongued,
beguiled, the ghoul, Mister Misbegotten.
Claims he's been torn down by the world
and insulted by the barrel-full
he should have died a hundred times over
but still
the ugliness in his soul keeps him lone-long-walkin'
Mister Half-Dead Misbegotten.
He'll try to talk you sweet
out of your last meal
and rattle your door at three o'clock
in the morning
with his ghostly ravings
without fair warning
And then he'll accuse you
of every sin in the book,
mostly, the ones he's committed
If he knows where you live,
you will never get rid
of him.
Mister Ghoulish Grin Misbegotten.
work in progress
based upon a real person, sadly, someone beyond our ability to help
Copyright October 12, 2014 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells tilt-a-world
