Ebony Rooney
By Emilee Petersmark

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Ebony Rooney cleans up the stairs--
Sweeping away the bloodstains there
As she hums the tune of "Bright-eyed Marie"
With a smile on her face.

She lives in a house on top of a hill
Where maggots flock to eat theri fill,
And corpses are planted out in the garden
To feed her hungry daisies.

The woman mothers two little boys;
She gives them scissors and needles for toys
And mashed, pulpy organs for fingerpaints--
They write their names in red.

Ebony Rooney wanders the town
And loves a man that's not around,
And worships a God she does not love--
Her bible, an empty book.

Neighbors hear screams late in the night
And act oblivious to cover their fright.
And parents warn children about her misdeeds;
Their nightmares deem her a monster.

Into her house, she lures in men
Who are never seen again;
She'll roll their bodies down the steps
So her sons can have their fun.

Ebony Rooney wakes with early light
To clean up the mess she'd made last night.
She laughs as she wipes her hands clean of death,
And hugs her family.