I see them coming and am ready
phantoms of nervous, muted gigglings,
shuffling from the underworld
A glowing skeleton leads the pack,
clicks orders to the smaller ghouls
who huddle behind their brittle leader
A fairy queen in perished curtains,
wearing a crown of butterfly clips,
waves a star, glued to a stick
A faded devil with garden fork
and one horn missing, prods a ghost
to step up first and ring the bell
The assemblage from hell, their masks
askance, offer open-mouth sacks and
chant the mantra of Trick or Treat
A short, plump witch with bulging plastic
bags in both her hands, crunches
my proffered apple between her teeth
I reach again for talisman treasure,
fling fruit and chocolate bars into the
sea-gull scurry for vantage place
Then, squawking thank-yous, they flock
along the street, hurrying before dark,
before the chance of real demons
Before their parents call, to fold their
children's borrowed selves in boxes
stored on shelves for centuries of nights
that are another year away.
We say we're safe, but
wake up in the night
afraid of what we know
is near our bed: the
monsters in the closets
of our youth, the alligators
waiting, with hollow mouths
like city rates, electricity
we must reduce
We try to put on wisdom
and become annoyed
when no one listens
to our layered facts.
The smirks of disbelief
forcing some taking off,
some paring down
Our shorter days seem
longer. We lighten them
with memories edited,
arguments we choreograph
with friends, some still
living, or teasing grownup
children who have lost
their sense of humour.
Daylight hours are yet
within control. At night
we keep our arms and legs
securely on the bed,
switch on our table lights
before we touch the floor.