My Friend Lives Next to a Graveyard

My friend lives next to a graveyard.
She goes walking in it almost every night
When the weather is nice
But sometimes even when it’s not.
Those nights are her favorite.

She dons her walking cloak, the one with
A satin cobweb lining and the batwings collar.
She likes how it flares out behind her
As if the night could lift her into flight.
She also wears a hat, warm and not at all evil.

Her heels click on the cracked stone walkway.
They rap out a jazzy backbeat
For the skeletons to imitate when they rattle.
She hums an old song she heard in a century gone
So the wind can moan properly through the gravestones.

My friend takes graveyard walks, but she’s not a witch.
Her cape is a puffy red parka with cute snowflake buttons.
Her heels are clad in sensible and warm boots.
Her song is a ditty she heard last week
At Whole Foods where she picked up sushi for dinner.

Her hat, though. Her hat is pure evil.
Especially the pom pom on top.
No pom pom can be that fluffy and not be evil.
Aleister Crowley would have loved that pom pom
And worn the hat while he wrote wicked poetry.

I do have a friend who lives next to a graveyard and she does take walks through it quite often. I do not think she has an evil hat, though. I can’t be sure of that, but it seems a safe assumption.

You may have noticed a new tag on this poem and the same on yesterday’s poem. I’ll tell you more about it later.

(Photo Credit: Pexels on Pixabay)