Halloween is
 
a string of pumpkin lights
so vividly orange
I taste citrus,
behind a pumpkin carved with two
opposing faces flickering
with beeswax fire.
 
Between two witch's brooms
sporting tree branch handles,
monsters slither, clomp, fly, slash
their way through victims
on our TV screen.
 
We snuggle warm beneath our blanket,
crunching popcorn, sipping hot cider.
Our cats, oblivious to spirits
who rise and haunt the night,
purr softly, eyes closed,
chests exposed.
 
There are no foul witches here,
no demons to animate the dead,
no psychopaths hiding behind masks
with glinting blades in hand.
 
Here, there is only the warm flow
of electricity,
the dark rustle of spent candy wrappers,
the black and white scream
of Frankenstein's lightning-haired bride.
 
Scott Speck
11/02/2002