Old Mrs. Meezly
With the
Carefully sculpted scowl
Lived across
The street from
The childhood homestead
Never stepping outside
Except to yell at
Obnoxious urchins
Wandering too near
The wrought iron gate,
Protector of thorny shrubs
And hoodwinked rumors
From buffoons
Defying the pointed finger tremors,
Screechy party-line howls
Fear and bravado colliding
With children’s souls on
All Hallows Eve
Taunting the door
Answered by
Bruised crab apple treats
Scavenged from
A haunted tree
Tokens of trepidation
With an ominous smile
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