Midnight calls and the terror begins,

the creeping agony of the task ahead,

to battle the Witch Queen

as she raps on the door, testing for your weakness

and the sliver of black octopus tentacles

reaches in like rubber smoke

to throttle your resolve.

 

Coral Mallor, an unearthly name,

strikes fear into all known men

and even the women that she professes to love

cross themselves in her company

and the Devil, shining red and with muscular sword

in hand looks at his companion and dreads

the inevitable.

 

There is no Ozma in amongst this den of thieves,

no beauty in the eye of the beholder to hold back panic,

dear sweet Ozma, to whom magic decided was better

off as a girl and who could strike down Mallor

with but a single slap and a pull of the hair,

the bruising glare of the Trick and Treat exported

to the shores of Bootle

in which the terror of running

out of Gingerbread and a house full of sweets

would surely see any real witch

engulfed in fire.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015