In our dark hall, the hour was nearing midnight.
On the wall, two Day-Glo skulls glowed ghostly bright.
From one cranium, a bone-ochre gleam could be seen.
The other beside, shone in crypt-mold gray-green.
Abruptly they bellowed, Mwa HA! HA! Mwa HA! HA!
Making my throat croak a knee-jerk
The howl of the deadheads was just their loud chime.
The first four of twelve, telling the time.
The white eyes were worst, eyeballs in the sockets.
Four balls they were, in black, hollow pockets.
Each one had a digit, for minute or hour.
Their cold, ivory stare made me shiver and cower.
Eleven fifty-nine showed the soulless, bone crowns,
On globes moving forward, like bug-eyed, old clowns.
Then more screams, Mwa HA! HA! Mwa HA! HA!
Made me tremble and cry out, in horror and awe.
The nine ball came closer, until it fell out.
It dropped past the cheekbone and the cavernous snout.
At just the same time, the hinged jawbone dropped,
The gum-less teeth parted, out a blood-red tongue popped.
As the minute ball descended to crash to the floor,
The cupped tongue, like a drawer, caught it before.
Pulled into the skull between gaping jaws,
The nine was retrieved; the five dived without pause.
As new balls advanced to show twelve, I sighed, Ah.
Then my soul shook with the last shouted, Mwa HA! HA! Mwa HA! HA!