Ain't that a bitch, Your daughter is a witch (our annual Halloween poem)

Ain't that a bitch,
Your daughter is a witch.
And now she won't stop leaving her dead bodies in a ditch.

It's not your fault
She escaped out of her vault.
You even used those chains and that circle made of salt.

She's back with the coven.
Now she wants to use the oven.
It's the constant smell of sulfur that your family is not lovin'.

She dropped out of college
To pursue her evil knowledge,
And now she says she wants to Kickstarter a candy cottage.

When she learns another hex
Or when she zombified her ex,
At least you take some comfort that she's not having sex.

She stays in her room
But she purchased her own broom.
The only time you see her is as shadow on the moon.

I want you to know
I've talked to Jan and Joe.
The Homeowner's Association's agreed to let it go.

They'll turn a blind eye
To the demons in the sky
As long as there's no trouble when a realtor's coming by.

And keep her away
From the kids and dogs, okay?
The cauldron's well-secured? And the hellhound's kept at bay?

Great, then that's all set.
You need to go, I'll bet.
There's lightning bolts accumulating in your kitchenette.

Why do kids get all the bedtimes?

A carnal symphony in four movements: "Sing Sing Sing" - Benny Goodman Orchestra Live at Carnegie Hall 1938