Traditions

    They sat there, on the porch in front of shit-
colored apartment doors, bloated orange
and gaping mouths. The old man lips
curling over toothless gums, grinning
and grinning.

    Halloween, All-hallows Eve,
was a week ago. And these squat old men
are sagging, drooping, ignored. I feel pity,
helpless pity for them;
    They will die soon.
    They are dying.
    They have already died.
    They are rotting, decaying.
Turning away from this mockery
of life, I don’t want to think about wrinkles
and death, even this warm colored death –
the last burst of life before cold, like autumn. The stench
or the thought of it, is suffocating, squashing. Squash…

    I’d rather be Cinderella, where the pumpkins expand
and then return to their shape. I don’t want to be
a murderer, cutting smiling faces into my victims, I don’t want
to be the maker of their mockery, I only mock
myself.
    Honestly, I think I am taking this
        much too seriously. They are only
    just pumpkins and I’ve carved them
    since I was a kid. I’ve already tasted
    their seedy blood.

*Just a lil something I wrote while at work. I actually thought of it while I was walking to my car from the apartment to head to work. The title is still kind of ify…a work in progress I suppose. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this one…:)