(in memoriam P.S.R.)
“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!”
You liked The Exorcist but not The Omen.
You made with the discriminating taste
even, Mom, when the Devil was the showman.
Fraud was amongst the many facts you faced.
But, if the mask was well and truly placed
before a little face intent on fun,
you passed the candy out. As monsters raced
around the bend, you smiled to see them run.
To your excessively-cerebral son,
you explained Dracula — and got it right.
As literate back then as anyone,
you heard them call, the children of the night.
You really loved your Halloweens: it’s true.
That’s something I inherited from you.