Bartholomew

Poetry-Bartholomew-846x1024

They call me Batholomew “The Maggot” McQueen

and there’s nothing derogatory in what they mean.

For you see I am the current reigning king

of Mad Max’s “Tequila ’til Sunrise” all night fling.

It’s true! I admit it! I’m a recreational drinker:

offer a drink and you’ve got me – Hook, line, and sinker.

 

So with Halloween coming I was getting excited

just thinking of all the parties to which I was invited.

Should I go as a zombie? They’re always in season…

and people won’t mind my stumbling about for no reason.

Or I could be an evil wizard! Spreading chaos and fear

as I caused every drink to… Presto! Disappear!

 

These were all good ideas but I’d done them before.

I needed something shocking and new and covered in gore!!

I thought then of Tank Girl whose breasts could take out a truck

but with a figure like mine… that would be pushing my luck.

Or what if I made use of my assets? I am pretty hairy…

Throw in a tutu and some wings and… Voila! Instant mutated fairy.

So many possibilities! I needed time to think

and what better way than to relax with a drink…

 

I’ll never know what went on that night

for I came to with dawn’s first light

and realized that… I don’t remember Halloween.

What could be the reason why

my head was pounding and my mouth was dry

and I… I can’t remember Halloween.

 

What on earth had been my role?

I lay next to a dead elf hanging from a pole.

Maybe I’d eaten his soul and that’s why I… I can’t remember Halloween

 

Halloween… Halloween… the word resounded through my head

every bounce of every syllable had me wishing I was dead.

So I lay there, unmoving, and feeling pretty sorry for myself

as I wondered why the hell I was cuddling with this bloody beaten elf?

 

I soon became aware of an urgently familiar sensation…

and no, I wasn’t giving the elf a standing ovation.

Necessity got me up and headed down the hall,

though a sickly vertigo had me hugging the wall.

It occurred to me, as I made my morning ablutions,

that maybe my friends’ would hold some solutions.

 

So of course, the first place I thought to look

was for any new posts on my Facebook.

Scrolling past ads and the incessant cries of boredom,

carefully ignoring the clever restraints on our freedom,

I came at last to an incriminating story:

“Behold! The Maggot in all his glory!!”

And there I was, some sort of blood thirsty cannibal

ripping into a terrified elf like an animal.

And the best part -which I thought was pretty handy-

everyone knows that Christmas elves are filled with candy!

 

So there it was, my past no longer such a mystery.

Or at least, not until Facebook deleted my history…

This sad revelation really got me to thinking

that maybe I should slow down, just a bit, on my drinking…

‘Cause it’s all fun and games when you have a happy elf to dismember

but what good is an evening when you can’t even remember?