By CRAIG MILLAR & MARGIE MYRTLE JONES OCT. 31, 2014
All Hallow’s Eve in the Capital
At the end of ol’ October
Scary ghouls turned out, some laughable,
Most drunk and waiting for Uber.
In ev’ry yard there was a sign
Opining who’d least likely kill us
Under towering oaks (or in North Raleigh, pines)
‘Twas either Hagan or Tillis.
Creeps and twerps and miscreants
Came forth from below the ground
And caused us folks to all flee once
Or twice at their hor’ble sounds.
“What was that noise?” people looked through slats
At the ghoulish obscenity.
‘Twas the restless souls of gals and lads
Who fenced at UNC.
These ragged souls had had enough
Of the recent scandal du jour.
“We had to go to class AND parry and thrust,
Not get A’s for being 6’4!”
From behind these ghouls came Gelwood South
With new arrival hipster dudes
And into their smirky hipster mouths:
Aged Scotch on round ice cubes.
Little hats perched on their heads
And they upon their stools,
In pegged jeans, burly boots or throwback Keds
Tweeting about Google Tools.
Next in line were hysteric folk
Who preferred the name historic
“Don’t touch that house! James K. Polk
Once leaned on its columns Doric!”
‘Twas next a horrid mass of sinners
Who had defiled their eternal souls
By ruining countless family dinners
Taking brain-dead pushy push-polls.
Calling for Tommy B and Johnny Mac
And Hanchette and Gen’ral Gary,
These minions and political hacks
Were much more nuisance than scary.
This undead lot of soulless ghouls
Formed a rabble in the street
“The lines are always long at Poole’s,
It’s Stanbury for sous vide pig’s feet!”
This lot was out all night, it seems
Ending on a defiant note:
“We’ll run this town ’til 2016,
When dead folks can no longer vote!”