Cold Hands, Warm Heart
It was a cold, blustery Halloween night,
brittle branches rattled windows,
dead leaves slid down rooftops,
drafts infiltrated from out of sight.
She had to work the whole night long.
Fate of being among the low ranks,
patrolling streets in their small town,
preventing teenagers from nasty pranks.
I had the duty of greeting the kids.
Came in costume bundled against the chill,
shadows of the full moon clawing the ground,
frightenedly took their candy bags to fill.
It was over early, when the snow began.
I turned off the lights and decided to turn in.
A roaring fire in the fireplace to stave off the drafts.
Settled in my armchair with a blanket and gin.
I turned on an after-hours horror TV channel.
An old movie playing was far from banal.
With my stiff drink in hand, I begin to watch,
while the wind howled outside to match.
The plot was thick and the scenes were scary,
I drifted between excitement and great worry.
How was she faring on this miserable night?
When even monster creatures would shelter in fright.
Suspense was mounting, the climax had come,
the old hag was approaching him from behind…
I gripped the arms of my chair so tight when,
I felt a cold bony hand on my neck… and screamed!
And then, warm lips brushed my ear.
Warm hugs and kisses followed near.
Relieved, my honey was home at last.
Still, "Why so early?" I asked.
"Chief sent us home. The snow was so deep,
we couldn't patrol. I forgot my gloves. Anyway,
Vandals had all scurried off to their holes."
I poured her a drink and we settled in,
so warm and cuddly, holding each other tight.
But I still worry about that old hag's hands,
each cold, windy late autumn night.
Copyright 2018 © Ronald W. Hull
10/25/18
You can view this poem at my website here.
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Regis
Sandie
Until the ending when you held on tight.
Does she know you call her a hag?
Love ya!
Jane