Goat Gala!
Saru Potturi

Hooked nose, broken back
The hag cuts up candy apples with a tack
Gossip rag, and talking smack
And her ribs splinter with a delightful crack.

Holy ghosts, come out and play
Make the most of this pagan day
String up the rats, a hangman’s game
We’ll raise a toast to our loose-tongued dame.

Heavy footsteps, crunching glass
Now here’s a doe-eyed lass
With slits for lips, serrated mouth crass
Splicing little promises, dead nails in her hands.

Holy ghosts, come out and play
Make the most of this pagan day
A heap of fingers, gnarly gray
We’ll feast on venison tonight, laughing away.

Crooked toes, wicked eyes
The siren perfects her voice with a thick butter knife
Mutated body, satanic cries
Tongue darting out to pick at dead flies.
​
Holy ghosts, come out and play
Make the most of this pagan day
Sea-scented chords—the black ballroom sways
A red lady’s apple is our special guest today.

We make merry, blood on ice
I pet my steed, twice and thrice
We make merry, hazy eyes
We make merry, limbs on fire
Merry, merry, slit wings diced

Merry, merry, crosses fly
Merry—merry—forked tongues fried--
Merry—merry—the mob’s alive--

(The mob’s alive)

(The mob’s alive)

Holy ghosts, come out and play
Make the most of this pagan day
The scent of mutton lingers in the air
Dinner is served, and my throne is a plate.

Saru Potturi is an Indian poet-writer who aims to question and challenge the nature of personhood, pothook, and reinvention-- and write some ear-pleasing rhymes in the process.
​(Pomona College '24)