Halloweaned
There’s nothing hallowed
about this day,
unless
druidism is your Way?
more’s the wayward mind,
wide-eyed drunk,
shriveled and shrunken
talking heads,
spiked
like an olive on a tooth pick,
on wrought iron
will.
Cats gutted & strung up
charred-
for the fun of it,
mores lost
to treatful days
long past-
a loaded bag
thrown
up on granma’s porch-
a trick
too common
to make a stink
about.
By today’s standards
it’s no teen with a match
sans malice-
it’s your 7 year old
stealing daddy’s torch
with a bead on
your head!
What used to be good
old-fashioned mischief
has turned evil eye-
now life imitates art.
Mom says
“don’t let your imagination
run wild with you tonight,
my little precioussssezzzes,
don’t!
run amok
out of control”
and,
isn’t it just like man
to kill-
when a boo will do?

***