All Hallow’s Eve, she was naive,
and he had charm.
Doe-eyed and tall, he held in thrall—
proffered his arm.
She walked beside him, like a bride
in wedding gown,
And when he smirked her strings all jerked—
For party night, she looked a fright,
at her own hand.
Mom’s marriage-dress, her hair a mess—
talc through each strand.
The faded rose of drooping hose
and ragged frill,
she looked the part—the broken heart
from Dickens quill.
He wore no rig, to match the gig—
mask set in place.
Drawing her near, he nipped her ear
and licked her face.
As in those tales of ingenues
who meet their fate,
he knew that now the time had come
for his check-mate.
They stole away, shut out the fray
and found a room.
The steel-trap door, an icy floor
she, with her groom.
There Havisham, for swift wham-bam,
gave up the ghost.
Her nuptial gown, rode up and down—
her virtue lost.