Halloween
The children’s room glows radiantly by
The light of pumpkins on the windowsill
That fiercely grin on sleeping boy and girl.
She stirs and mutters in her sleep, Goodbye,
Who scared herself a little in a sheet
And walked the streets with devils and dinosaurs
And bleeping green men flown from distant stars.
We sit up late, and smoke, and talk about
Our awkward, loving Frankenstein in bed
Who told his sister that it isn’t true,
That real men in real boxes never do
Haunt houses. But the King of the Dead
Has taken off his mask tonight, and twirled
His cape and vanished, and we are his
Who know beyond all doubt how real he is:
Out of his bag of sweets he plucks the world.
--Gjertrud Schnackenberg
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