Tails, no Heads


How’s a phantom body
to get a head
and not keep The Hollow
from sleeping?

In New England’s old Dutch Tarry Town
the Galloping Hessian’s head rolled free
blown off by a cannonball that took him down
which caused him to spook from the evil-eyed elm tree
near the graveyard, to the roads and woods all ’round

and his corpse and horse to nightly leave
the tomb in search of that long-lost crown

a mercenary soldier ghoul who villagers believe
has never settled down

Brom Bones cavorts on Daredevil, his steed
while his rival Ichabod, no skilled equestrian
rides Gunpowder, in equal hope to impress Katrina Van
Tassel, who’s fair indeed
but winning her desired hand
proves to both of them the lesser hassle
than mere survival in this bewitched land
for there’s something heavier than romance
in the air and
it’s tough to catch any rest down there
in the valley of the haunted Zee by the Hudson River

the schoolmaster Ichabod trembles most, to make
his way on the spectre-storied roads at night
for fear the Hessian on hooves will overtake
and on the timid traveler, evil incite

but to blame a disabled ghost’s not right
think of the difficulty of his plight
for one so uncerebrally endowed
it’s pointless for him to crane his neck
as it holds up nothing now

how the Hessian finds his way is a mystery
but somehow he manages well unless
he ventures onto the bridge, goes the story
where he turns into flames or a skeletal mess

who can blame or add stress
to the dark rider simply storming
toward the brook
to have a look
for his old doming?

with no recollection of his own
demise of the part his body (be)moans
and no longer stocked with cranial contents
or their container
he’s not adverse to the violence
in taking off at any pretense
someone else’s as a retainer

on nights when the Hessian-seated steed appears
in true gothic fashion with thunderous rears
even atheists turn religious here
praying for a silver crucifix and the Lord so dear
to provide safe crossing into the clear

and keep them sound, mind and limb just right
at least for another Sleepy Hollow night



(c) Maureen Glaude Sept 25 03