The Run Of The Dunderheads Poem by James P. Roberts

In Madison it was a short-lived tradition,
a midnight Halloween celebration.
The bars would empty and they would stroll
to gather in a mass at the Capitol.

Dozens of drunken young men (mostly)
to enact a rite not remotely ghostly.
As the sound of midnight rang from the church
they began to run, jog, stagger, lurch

down the center of State Street and up on the walk,
shouting, spewing, too breathless to talk.
Crashing into storefronts, trash cans, benches,
street signs, lampposts, iron fences.

Across the Library Mall and up Bascom Hill
(some didn't make it and had to crawl) .
The victors danced around the statue of Lincoln
then returned to the bars to continue drinking.

The following day I would read of their wanton urge
in a "State Journal" column by George Hesselberg.
As the years passed, it sputtered to an end,
but I still miss the Halloween run of the Dunderheads.