Parlay And Pay Poem by Mark Heathcote

Doors that need their hinges fixed and silenced
are restless, flee-bit dogs with muzzled growls?
Till on the porch, the neighbourhood wolfhounds
land dressed as werewolves through an eyelet
peeping, garbed as vampires, some are moaning.
And are the living dead that's left their graves,
thus, we answer with sharpened wooden staves,
to slay them before their decomposing
can go any further, but these zombies
are laughing as we muster the courage
to parlay and avert any carnage,
offering silver, chocolate smarties
they fill their eager palms and wave goodbye
till next year, close your doors and fortify.