The Ghouls (poem)

The Ghouls

In recent centuries, the eaters
of the dead have shrunk in numbers:
cremation, embalming fluids
poisoning their meals, our squeam
their famine. Like the drought-parched
begging for rain, they pray
to their vulture-headed gods
for a good old-fashioned plague.
Or a civil war would work—
chaos, mass casualties.
Their gods listen. Fatter
years for ghouls are coming.
At least our politicians serve,
if ignorantly, one needy constituency.

— Ian Erinson
17 October 2025

Halloween Day 17