The favorite sons and favored daughters
who dwell on Ossuary Hill
each night awake and they are jealous--
Envy keeps from sleeping well.
Until their locked and fenced-in village
lets them forth
night breeze to smell
No caddies line this cul-de-sac
No Lexus, Prius, or SUV.
A different sort of folk inhabit
this gated community...
These honored folk--elites, I guess--
Feel hunger, too, as well as envy
Now, late at night, they seek a snack
Not pastrami, chips, or chili
An unexpected visit, then,
they'll pay to poor folks down below.
These, deep in sleep, are eas'ly caught
Though the hill folks may be slow
They'll slake their hunger
--and their envy--
In this way, the shambling squad:
Creeping quiet into the village,
Decayed and claw-clad feet unshod.
The valley folk, so poorly off
Are quiet and simple--a working bunch
Though now and then, they will tell tales
Over coffee, beer, or lunch.
They always have, it seems, resented
the snobbish wealth-hounds on the hill
And yet, these days, it's gotten worse--
They live in fear with spines all chilled
For some dark nights, when they wake hungry,
Somnambulists from up the Hill
Creep into town down in the valley
And make a sleeping, screamless kill...
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