A Visit From the Butcher

Kevin wrote a poem for Hallowiener this year, and it was so wonderful I had to post it here.


Twas the night before Hallowiener and all through the kitchen,

Not a creature was stirring, they were dead as fried chicken.

The fridge was well packed with sausage and hare,

And kegs were out icing in tubs by the stair

The mudders were passed out all over the floor,

With visions of venison and wild boar

And Caitlin and I were tucked in and warm,

Enjoying the calm ahead of the storm

When out on the patio arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter

Away to the window I stumbled and fell

To make sure all was right with my old Weber grill.

The moon through the branches of now leafless trees

Gave light to the red cups, blown around in the breeze.

When, what to my half drunk eyes should appear

But a kangaroo, yak, and a couple reindeer.

Herding them all, so tasty and thick,

Was a butcher, I thought might be playing a trick

But behind him came others, with all types of meat

And i suddenly realized this must be a treat.

"Now Camel! now, Llama! now, Pheasant and Beaver!

Iguana! Alpaca! Prepare for my cleaver!

And as you prepare for the cut of this knife

Remember how tasty your flesh and your life!"

As a lamb at a slaughterhouse walks calmly by

Not knowing that soon it will be sent to the sky

So too did these creatures step calmly up

Volunteering themselves to be what we would sup.

I made my way down, down to the main level

Anticipation flowing for the next day's revel.

I opened the door, to offer the butcher,

Any help he might need, or beer from a pitcher.

He was dressed in brown leather, from ankle to hood,

And his clothes were all stained with intestine and blood,

A stack of thick steaks he had piled nearby

He looked just like death, with a twinkle in his eye.

His brow, it was furrowed!  his dimples how stoic!

The work he was doing was truly heroic!

His droll little mouth in a state of repose,

And the beard of his chin dripped red as a rose.

The hilt of his tool he held tight in his hand,

And the block on the table was fancy and grand.

He had strong broad shoulders, and muscular arms,

Undoubtedly ladies did swoon at his charms

He was skilled at his craft, a seasoned old killer

I hoped to one day know as much as a griller.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but finished his work,

And filled all the coolers, with game meats and pork.

And laying his cleaver back down on the block,

Double checked that in fact we had plenty of stock.

He then sprang to the woods, but gave one final bow

To honor the creatures he'd butchered just now.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he ran out of sight,

"Happy Hallowiener to all, and to all a good-night!"

This also inspired our wonderful friends to write some poems of their own